That Something Else Is More Important
by VoxMaille
Summary: "The way to love something is to realise that it could be lost." ~G.K. Chesterton. Set during 5th year. Rated PG-13e
1. The Best Measures

That Something Else Is More Important 

                                                                        by VoxM

"It is our **choices**, Harry, that show us what we really are, far more than our abilities."

~Albus Dumbledore

**A/N**: Well. This is the longest fic I've ever written. Huh. I'm kind of amazed that I've finished it. And I'm really tired—I think I'll swear off long fics, because this one kicked my ass. 

Set in fifth year. Rating? **PG-13 for violence, language and an innuendo**—I suppose I should have put that before I said anything about "ass kicking." It also is a semi-sequel to "The Only Thing We Have To Fear." So if you want, read that first. 

**Disclaimer**: I've run out of creativity with this part. All I can say is: IT'S NOT MINE. NOT. EMPHATICALLY NOT OWNED IN ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM BY ME. 

**Also, please note**: The phrase "Honestly, Harry, don't you EVER read?" I thought was canonical—but I recently re-read **Arabella**'s HQoW series and I spotted it there, so I will give her and JKR credit for that phrase, since it takes me forever to tease out the differences between what she wrote in HQoW and what JKR actually said. Because, you know, that series practically is canon at this point. At least with me. 

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**_"Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear."_**

****

**_~_****_Ambrose Redmoon_**

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**Chapter 1:  The Best Measures . . .**

*          *          *          *

The letter fell into Hermione's lap at breakfast. Harry was attempting to apply marmalade to his scone while expending as little effort as possible and with his eyes half-closed, when the owl swept past him, towards his best friend, nearly causing Harry to drop the sticky pastry all over his robes. His other best friend, Ron Weasley, smirked at Harry's misadventure.

Hermione wasn't paying any attention to the scone. She untied the parchment and began to read. Her face took on a very different appearance as she continued, smiling to herself. She turned a little red at places, but by the time she looked back across the table, most of the blush had dissipated. She tried to shoo the owl off. 

"I'll write back later." The owl did not look convinced. "I will. I promise. I'll send a school owl this afternoon." The owl hooted sceptically, but left. 

"What," Harry asked, half-looking up from his breakfast, "was the letter about?" Hermione shot him a warning look. 

"Nothing much. Just a note from a friend I haven't seen in awhile." She was not naming names. Oops. Even as tired as he was, Harry realised immediately whom the letter was probably from. He went back to his scone, hoping that Ron had caught neither the question nor the look. He was not that lucky. 

"Really?" Ron said. "I didn't realise Muggles used Owl Post. Huh." 

"Some do," Hermione said vaguely. "My parents use Owl Post."

"Because almost all of your wizarding friends are here, so it would be silly for _them_ to send you an Owl. I assume, therefore, that it must be from one of your Muggle friends." Dammit. Harry gave up on breakfast. He was about to not be hungry anyway.

Hermione slowly set the letter next to her plate. _Ooh. Bad move, Hermione_, Harry thought. _Don't try to take the letter, Ron, just don't_. She sat up straight and coolly looked Ron in the eye.

"As a matter of fact, Ron, it _is_ from a wizard. It's from—"

"How _is_ Bulgaria this time of year?" Ron got up, leaving his breakfast tray and stalked out of the Great Hall. Hermione sighed and returned to her toast. She didn't seem to really enjoy it much.

_At least_, thought Harry, at least he didn't try to grab the letter. Better than nothing.

"Come on," Hermione said, after a minute of the uncomfortable silence. "We've got Charms."

Harry followed her, hoping that Ron's new bad mood would be gone by the time the three of them sat in lecture.

*          *          *          *

He and Hermione had reached the class room and settled in before Ron skidded through the door, barely on time. He seated himself next to them, but at that point, Harry was hardly in a state to observe the redhead's mood, as his head was buried comfortably in his arms. Harry was more than halfway to a lovely dream involving several pretty girls serving him scones with marmalade in such a way that it was unlikely that it would get on his robes, which were, from what he could tell, on the other side of the room from both him and the girls.  

 ". . .the _Quondamus_ Charm is a subtle but effective spell, useful in attacks because its range is wider than many others. Its properties cause those enchanted by it to lose the ability to make any motion more than once. Since we naturally shift our bodies imperceptibly to maintain balance every second, although the charm requires a short time in order to become noticeable, it is excellent at impeding complex attacks. Often the target is unaware until the . . ."

Harry let Professor Flitwick's voice run in and out of his mind, which was entertaining itself quite well, despite the intrusion of the professor and of Harry's sore body. As if Oliver's early morning practices hadn't been bad enough, now they had Angelina getting them up to jog a 5k before they started _her_ field regimen. His legs ached. Fred wasn't the only one who had been hoping for a softer routine from his girlfriend.  

The tiny wizard at the front of the classroom continued

" . . .on the other hand, the incantation _Scopolamia_ has an instantaneous effect. Named after a Muggle pharmaceutical popular in medical circles for its effects on the nervous system in the early twentieth century, this spell's effects mimic those of the drug's overdose . . ."

Mmm. Scones. Those were some _really _fantastic looking girls, too. 

"Wow." Hermione's voice brought him back to reality. You couldn't dream about pretty girls and listen to Hermione at the same time. Something didn't fit there. Not that Hermione wasn't pretty or anything, just that it was . . .well, _weird_. "So fascinating. I never realized how much Muggle history could be wound up in the wizarding world." Harry raised his head and looked sleepily at her. 

"Ergh?" was all he said. Ron started snickering. 

"What? You don't find this as scintillating as 5AM Quidditch practice?" Harry would have glared at him, but he was too tired.   "Hey!" Hermione shushed them. "We've got a midterm coming up and I am _not_ going to fail because Harry is snoring through lectures and you're too busy making smart comments." Ron grinned innocently at her. Apparently, he had gotten over the mood he'd been in earlier.

Professor Flitwick kept lecturing, oblivious to the three of them. 

". . .other important applications of _Hyperextensium_ are to promote physical flexibility in cramped quarters. Many times it is used in attempts to escape or to allow for extra range of motion when needed . . ." Ron snickered again.

"Bet Fred wishes he had known that one when he and Angelina were under the bleachers." Harry snorted and even Hermione was biting her lip to keep from giggling as she scribbled notes. Professor Flitwick looked up.

"I'm sorry, was there a question?" Three heads suddenly looked very interested in the desks at which they were sitting. Harry returned to the marmalade. One of the girls was preparing his seventh or eighth scone. He'd lost count at this point. 

Ah well, best to start over. 

Harry was asleep before Ron could rouse him with another smart comment. 

*          *          *          *

His overall impression of the rest of the day was of Hermione's grip on his arm, dragging him from class to class, and when the three of them split up, she gave him a light shove into Ron as she left for Arithmancy. 

Ron was far less gentle with him, and kicked Harry's ankles to keep him upright all the way to Divination. Harry was glad that there was a ladder at the end of the walk: _that_ would make it hard for Ron to add to the bruises he'd created on Harry's legs. Harry seriously considered letting go of the rungs while Ron was under him, but he thought better of it when he saw Neville Longbottom starting the climb just behind Ron. Hurting Neville, even accidentally, was, in Harry's opinion, one of the ultimate demonstrations that you were an evil, nauseating and unredeemable soul. Draco Malfoy was nasty to Neville daily, which, to Harry, served to prove the point admirably.  

That, however, was the last coherent thought that he had in Divination, as the poufs that Professor Trelawney required them to sit in were simply designed for long naps.  It honestly was her fault for placing them so conveniently in such a horribly boring class. It was quite a glorious nap, Harry admitted to himself later. Perhaps he should ask Trelawney the next day about what exact kind of incense she used and if it was known for its sleep-inducing properties.  He wondered if he'd get points off of his grade for that kind of question. Would it make a difference if he _wasn't_ being sarcastic? He really did want to know. 

Harry kept drifting all through the afternoon and into the evening. He didn't wake up properly until after dinner, and that was only because Ron and Hermione were playing a particularly loud and spirited game of chess. His eyes flew open as he heard Hermione crowing noisily over something. Harry turned his head to see what was happening.

She looked positively triumphant. 

"Ha! I'll get your knight, then!" Ron shrugged and moved a piece.  

Hermione stared at the chessboard in disbelief. "Did—did you mean to do that?" 

Ron smirked at her. "Of course I meant to do that. I'm a chess _wizard_, pun intended. Think I'd make a move if I didn't mean it?" Hermione peered at him with an incredulous expression. Then she shook her head.

"Fine. If that's what you say." She slid her queen across the board and captured the black rook. 

Two moves later, she goggled at the board again.

"I believe," Ron said, as nonchalantly as was possible for him under the circumstances, "I believe that would be yet _another_ check and mate for yours truly." Hermione was aghast. 

"I can't believe—I should have just taken the knight. It was _right_ there and then you put that rook out and I thought I'd _finally_—"

"Eyes got a little big for your stomach, there, eh?" He patted her shoulder in mock sympathy. "Don't worry about it. Used to get Ginny with that one all the time." From her position on the couch, his sister looked up from her book. 

"He did, too. Bastard. Just because I'm younger." 

"You really shouldn't talk about your own mother like that, Ginny."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I swear, you two." She started to put the pieces back in the box. "Good game, Ron."  

"You know, Hermione," he said in a surprisingly serious tone. "You'd be a lot better player if you'd just learn to calm down." She started to glower at him. "No, I mean you let yourself get all wound up and then you make stupid mistakes. You can play smarter than that." He reached over the table and took a couple of pieces out of the box. "Look, in all those blasted chess books you've read—what're these worth?"

"They're pawns. They're worth one each." 

"Okay. How about this?" He held up another piece.

"Bishop: it's worth four." 

"Then how much are they worth if your king is checkmated?"

"Well, then they're not really worth anything, are they?" 

"Right. So what have we learned from this little exercise?"

"Don't get checkmated." Hermione said smartly.

Ron gave her a look.

"All right. Fine, oh wise Weasley. The relative value of a piece may not be accurate depending on how a particular game is playing out. It might be more strategically effective to sacrifice a major piece over a minor one—so don't get fooled by relative worth. And of course, don't be afraid to make sacrifices because—" 

"That's chess." Ron's voice sounded a bit like Percy's at that moment. Hermione mouthed the words along with him sullenly. Harry's mouth twitched as he tried not to smirk. Ron could be incredibly awful when he beat Hermione at something and she was not the most gracious of losers. 

"Oy!" One of the knights looked up at them. "Are you gonna play again or just yammer at your lovely lady friend 'ere all night?" Harry choked on a laugh while Ginny covered her mouth with her hand to keep the giggles from escaping.  

Ron flushed.

"Get in the box, you."


	2. Any Other Fragile Thing

*          *          *          *

Chapter 2: Any Other Fragile Thing 

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_He was standing on the stairs, in one of the towers, he imagined—it was nearly pitch-black, so he couldn't see well. A flickering candelabrum gave the only light. Harry shivered—he was wearing his pyjama bottoms, but no shirt and his feet were bare. The stone walls gave no insulation and draughts blew along the spiralling steps.  _

_The candelabrum approached him, and he saw that there was a small figure carrying it, covered completely in a dark cloak. There was a tear in the cloak, and through it Harry could see a pale shoulder. With its free hand, the figure reached out and took his hand, leading him up the stairway. Harry couldn't see anything but the walls around him and the person leading him, adding to the surrealism of the whole thing. They could have been walking forever for all he knew. _

**_God, it's like the bloody Ghost of Christmas Future here . . ._**

_Suddenly the figure stopped and turned to face him. He still couldn't see the person's face. He looked down at the hand that was holding his—it was pale as the shoulder, and it was distinctly feminine. She held the candelabrum up to the wall and the grey stone seemed to melt away before the light. She stepped through the opening—still pulling him along. He stumbled over the half-melted rock and found himself in a small room. There was a window on the far side of it, and a strange light spilled through, casting ever-changing shadows over the room and onto a large desk. The figure dropped his hand and went to the window, looking out._

_The weird light suddenly expanded and filled up the room, blinding Harry in brightness. _

_When it faded, he found himself standing behind the desk. There was a piece of torn, crumpled parchment upon it. The paper was yellowed and there didn't seem to be anything on it. He smoothed it as flat as he could and abruptly writing began to appear under his hand. Harry couldn't make out what the words were—it seemed to almost be in a different language. It reminded him of the engravings he'd seen in very old books. The parchment itself began to shimmer and almost writhe as more writing appeared upon it. _

_The words changed, as if they had a life beyond what the unseen author intended. They grew and spread themselves out, transforming until they made an image. _

_He was looking at the slightly hazy image of a hand. It was reaching out and touching something—no, not something, a face. Ashes streaked across the person's forehead where the hand touched, leaving ugly grey marks. Harry couldn't see the whole face—it was blurred—but he could make out the eyes._

_They were closed._

_Harry suddenly felt as if something awful had happened. _

_He turned away from the paper. He didn't want to see any more._

_The figure in front of him touched his arm gently, understandingly. _

_She reached down and took his hand again, leading him to the window. _

_He looked out and could see all the way across the grounds right up to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. _

_In the middle of his view, right at the tree line, a pale glow seemed to be leaking out from between the firs. It was the same kind of light that had filled the room before. _

_He squinted at it and like a Muggle zoom lens, he was suddenly focussing in closer and closer, _

A single tree was glimmering—a yew tree—almost concealed by the oaks that surrounded it. The light was coming from a split hollow in the yew's stumpy trunk and Harry tried to see what was inside. But as he did so, the tree abruptly receded in his vision until he could see the edges of the stone window again. The girl in the cloak still stood next to him, waiting.

_He tried to speak to her._

_"What's going on?" but it was as if he'd had a Muting Charm placed on him, because the words dissolved before they even left his mouth._

_She shook her head and let go of his hand, then walked back to the table. She started to pick up the parch—  _

"_HARRY_! HARRY? WAKE UP, MATE." Something shook his shoulders, hard.

Harry gasped and reality flooded in. He was staring up at Ron. 

His best friend was pale. "You started thrashing in your sleep, mate, and then I couldn't wake you. I was about to call down to infirmary." 

Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan were behind Ron, looking sleepy but worried. Neville apparently had managed to sleep through the ruckus. 

"I'm all right," Harry said. "I'm all right. Sorry to wake you all." This last part he said to all three boys. Dean and Seamus shrugged good-naturedly and went back to their four-posters.

Ron, however, looked sceptical. "You're sure?" he said.

"I'm fine."

"Okay, then." And Ron, too, returned to bed. Harry heard him snoring a few minutes later.

He lay awake for a long time after that, lost in thought.

*          *          *          *

He didn't tell either Ron or Hermione about what he'd dreamt until that afternoon, though he had a feeling that Ron had mentioned something to Hermione about the events in the dormitory, because she kept asking him if he was okay. And after he'd respond yes, she countered with "Are you _sure_?" A good four or five hours of this line of questioning would be enough to crack the resolve of even James Bond himself. 

His best friends were round-eyed as he finished his story. Ron was quiet, his brow furrowed. Hermione, on the other hand, immediately and not unexpectedly leaped in with advice and worry.

"You should go to Dumbledore," she said. "What if it's something _important_?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "It wasn't one of those dreams where I _know_ Voldemort's there. It wasn't like that—it was different somehow."

"Different how?" Ron asked, frowning.

"It just seemed to be pointing me towards that _tree_. I don't know—I can't explain it. Nobody gives me interpretation guides for this stuff."

"Be a lot easier if they did, eh mate?" Ron grinned. "Make it a lot easier on everyone involved, wouldn't it?"

 "I just know it's something about what was in the tree."

"Probably it's only a wasp's nest in there. It's trying to tell you to stay away if you don't want to get stung." Even Ron looked doubtful about his own suggestion.

"Ron." Harry didn't have to say any more.

"Fine." Ron sighed. "We're going. As always." 

*          *          *          *

The grounds were cold for late October, and Harry was glad he was wearing his scarf as they walked towards the forest.

Hermione and Ron trailed behind him as he tried to figure out where exactly the spot he'd seen was located. A patch of blackthorn bushes caught his attention. He motioned to Ron and Hermione and they followed him towards the prickly trees. Harry pulled out his wand, just in case. 

They pushed through the sharp branches, and Harry thought how much his friends really were pretty devoted to climb through such unpleasant plants just because he had a dream about something that might or might not be here. 

At least, unlike most of the plants in Herbology, these bushes didn't seem to be fighting back.  And the hedge itself really wasn't that thick—from the edge of the forest line, you just had to push through quick and then you were in the clearing.

He stepped into the open area beyond the brush. It was the same place that he'd seen in his dream. He knew it. He held his wand a little tighter as he looked around, expecting someone to be there besides the three of them.     

But the clearing was empty. The only sounds that Harry could hear were the leaves rustling under his feet, and Ron and Hermione pushing through the thorns behind him. 

Ron raised his eyebrows and looked over his shoulders warily. Harry turned in a circle, wand still drawn. Nope. Still deserted. Hopefully that meant this would go well.

Hermione suddenly sneezed and both boys whipped around. "Allergies," she muttered, a bit apologetically. "Are you _sure_ this is the place?" she asked, peeking around a tree a little nervously. She sounded as if she was trying to keep the doubt out of her voice.

"Yes." Harry clenched his jaw. "I'm sure."

"Hermione," Ron said, "Harry's not going to be wrong. Not about stuff like this. You know that." 

"But it's so quiet here," Hermione was trying to respond in between sneezes. She still seemed puzzled and dubious. "And there's not a trace of the light you saw in your dream. How could this be th—_AUGHHH!!_" 

She cried out as a flash of fire grazed her arm and shot into the tree behind her. Ron grabbed Hermione by the shoulders and pulled her back.

"Are you convinced _now_?" he asked. The three of them ducked through some blackthorns that ran around the edge of the clearing—Harry felt his robe tear on one of the branches. They sat there, hopefully safe for a moment. 

Hermione was wide-eyed. "Harry, what's going on?" she whispered. The blow seemed to have at least stopped her allergies, because, she had stopped sniffling. 

"I don't know," he replied. This hadn't been part of his dream. He parted the brush and looked out. About seven all-too-familiarly masked wizards had appeared seemingly out of nowhere and were examining the area around the scorched tree trunk. Harry pulled out his wand, muscles tensed, hoping that they would remain unnoticed. His eyes flickered upwards and he met the eyes of one of the wizards. Their gazes locked and Harry froze, knowing that he'd been spotted but hoping against hope that he was wrong. The masked wizard raised his wand and sparks began to gather at its tip. _DAMN._ _Get down, NOW_, Harry thought. _NOW, Potter_. He put his hands over his head and was about to dive, even though he doubted he'd be able to clear out quickly enough, when he heard Ron say loudly "Harry, you _idiot_, **_move_**! Get _out_ of the _way_!" 

Harry suddenly fell, knocked sideways. He barely had time to look up and see what had knocked him over when there was a loud noise around him and the world exploded. 

*          *          *          *

The world came back in pieces. First sound, then touch and then as Harry's eyes slowly opened, sight returned as well. He sat up, dizzy. Things seemed confused—he barely remembered where he was.  He couldn't feel his shoulder. He didn't want to either, as his arm was hanging loosely from the socket in a most unnatural fashion. It was almost like the time in second year when Professor Lockhart had dissolved his bones, except this time he knew he still had his bones and he knew that a normal, boned, arm shouldn't fall limply like his was at the moment. A pain shot from the centre of his neck to the spot where the numbness in his arm began. 

What had happened? All right. His mind started to focus. The fight. He had been standing and then he was falling, knocking Hermione back over as he fell, and then there had been an explosion. Then—there wasn't anything. His memory was a blank. 

Wait—_Ron_. _Hermione_. Where were they?

He looked around. Hermione was kneeling a few feet away from him, on the edge of a scorched crater. Ron was next to her, apparently knocked out. She had one hand pressed against his side and the other was pointing her wand along the patch she was covering.   

"Oh, God. That was a lot of blood." Her face was white and tense. She dropped her wand arm. "Let's hope that worked, eh? Just stay put. I've got to check on Harry."  Absently, she smoothed the hair on Ron's forehead away from his face. She paused and then turned to Harry. "_Harry_! You're awake."

He nodded. "If you can call this being awake. I feel like someone's been punting Bludgers at me all day." Hermione's face softened. 

"Hang on a sec, Harry. I'll see if I can splint that up for you. I can't put it all the way back, but I can keep you from damaging it more." She pulled her wand back out and muttered at it again, and then traced his shoulder in the air. A bandage unwound itself from the end of her wand and wrapped itself around his arm, pulling it into a nearly normal position. Some of the pain along his chest lessened. "Can you get up?" He nodded and rose to his feet, a bit unsteadily, but he managed to keep himself upright.

 Hermione smiled encouragingly at him, and then turned her attention back to Ron. She pointed her wand at him and called out "_Mobilicorpus._" 

Ron rose slowly in the air. Hermione grimaced and turned to a tree limb that lay not too far from them. She transfigured it into a stretcher and moved Ron's unconscious form over it, laying him gently on the canvas. The stretcher began to follow them. Harry was puzzled—why use the stretcher when all she needed to do was keep up _Mobilicorpus_—it was less effort, magically speaking. His slight bewilderment must have shown, because Hermione glanced up and explained.

 "I don't like that spell." Harry raised an eyebrow. "In Latin, _Mobilicorpus_ means 'Move the Body.' It's the same root as 'corpse,' did you know that, Harry?" He shook his head. It didn't seem like _that_ big a deal—it was undeniably weird, but there were far worse spells and far worse names for them. Hermione saw the expression on his face and said "Never mind—it's stupid, I know."

"I didn't say that." He tried to protest.

"Look, don't worry about it, Harry. I just don't like it." She shrugged and kept walking.

"Hermione?" he called after her, "what happened? Where did they go? What the hell happened to the ground?"

"Oh, that," Hermione didn't seem very interested in the subject. "I just tried this spell that we learned in Charms, you know, _yesterday, _and it sort of worked, and they got knocked back. I suppose they must have disappeared then. I don't know. I wasn't really noticing—you and Ron were out—so I just wanted to get them out of the way. I don't know how they disappeared—you still can't Apparate or Disapparate on Hogwarts grounds, so they've found some other way to go. Maybe a Port Key?" 

Harry didn't want to think about Port Keys. If their attackers had used a Port Key that close to Hogwarts, then in his experience that could only mean unpleasant things . . . 

Lost in thought, he hardly noticed as they traipsed up to the castle doorway. Hermione set Ron's stretcher down. 

"Hang on a minute, Harry," she said. "Wait with Ron—I'll get Madam Pomfrey down here."

She opened the great doors and went in to the school. Harry sat down next to his friend.

"Merlin's wand, Ron," he said, "you're lucky Hermione was there to patch you up. What did you do, leap in _front_ of that curse?" He shook his head. "You _did_, didn't you? Hermione's right: you really are an idiot." He clapped his good hand on Ron's shoulder and hoped he didn't do any more damage to the redhead. "Thanks." There was a noise of a door opening, and Hermione reappeared at the entrance, breathless, with the school nurse in tow.

Madam Pomfrey took one look at the two boys and immediately started bustling around. "Glad at least you have good common sense. Splinting that up, making a stretcher." She glanced at Harry again, and he could feel her triaging him. "You, you're going to have to wait a minute while I take care of your friend here." She waved her wand over the stretcher. It rose and the three of them followed it up to the infirmary.

"Fine," Harry said. He could live with the pain for a bit longer. They opened the door to the infirmary and went in. Hermione tugged on his good arm.

"The _twins_. _Ginny_," she mouthed at him. He nodded. They tried to sneak out, but the nurse was too quick. 

"I said," Madam Pomfrey called after them, "you had to wait. I didn't say you could go."

"I'm coming back." Harry yelled back as he and Hermione scurried out. "Just a minute."

*          *          *          *

They entered the Gryffindor common room. Hermione had to help Harry balance through the portrait. Without using his wounded arm, he couldn't catch hold of the edge properly.

Ginny was talking animatedly with some of the other fourth-years. She looked up and caught Harry's eye as he entered.

"Hang on," she said to the group of girls and crossed over to Harry and Hermione. "Hey, there. What's going on? How'd your arm end up like that, Harry?"

From their position by the fireplace, the twins looked up. 

"Probably injured it fighting to protect damsels in distress, _again_." Fred laughed. "Have _you_ been in distress lately, dear sister?" Ginny turned scarlet.  "So where's the trusty Third Musketeer? He couldn't take any more heroic acts by young Potter here?" Harry started to speak, but then Fred did a double take and suddenly seemed to really see Harry's hastily bandaged arm. And how dirty he and Hermione were. Fred fell silent. George jumped in.

"Is Ron all right?" 

"He's in the infirmary," Hermione said, biting her lip. "He's been knocked out. Madam Pomfrey's with him." 

"Right." The twins exchanged a look. "Ginny?" Their sister was incredibly pale, but she had the presence of mind to nod. They left the common room and started through the halls to the infirmary. It was hardly a comfortable walk. Fred seemed to think that it was his job to lighten the mood.

"That's it then," he said, slapping Harry carefully on the back. "As soon as he's up, I'm telling my little brother to make new friends. And none of this 'keep the old' business. You two seem to have a knack for getting him pounded on. I'd like to be able save that job for myself, thank you." Harry smiled thinly. 

But all joking stopped when they reached the infirmary. Harry brushed off the nurse's attempts to both shoo everyone but himself out and to immediately start mending his arm. Instead, the five of them stood around Ron for a minute, watching him breathe, while Madam Pomfrey looked on, seeming a bit put out that they weren't paying attention to her orders.

"Will he wake up soon?" Ginny asked the nurse. 

"Maybe a week. Maybe more. Hopefully less. He took quite a bad hit there." Madam Pomfrey's face was serious.

"Yeah, hopefully," Fred repeated. He didn't take his eyes off of the bed. 

"Come on, Fred," George put his arm around his brother and started to guide him towards the door. "Let's go. We'll come back in the morning. Anyway, we need to find an appropriate toilet seat to send Ickle Ronniekins." He winked at Madam Pomfrey, who looked back suspiciously. George added, more quietly, "This time I know we'll get it in here. You need to come up with something to transfigure it into so we don't get caught." 

He caught Harry's eye and smiled sadly. "Getting to be a bit of a routine, eh? Mum's going to _love_ this one." He addressed his twin. "Fred. I'm going to take Pigwidgeon and owl Mum."

 "All right," Fred replied. "I'll, um, I'll owl Bill or Charlie. Or Percy."

"Mum can deal with all that." His brother was firm. "What about getting his assignments? You can do that."

"Don't worry about those. I'll get them." Hermione said softly. "We've got most of our classes together." 

"Great," George said, "then we're set. That means," and as he said this he grinned, "my strikingly handsome alter ego, that _you_ get to sleep while the rest of us do extra work. You do lead quite a rough life, Weasley. Someday we _are_ going to trade places again."  They left, though Fred glanced back over his shoulder several times. The three remaining students were quiet again, until Ginny spoke

"Do you ever worry," she said, "that he's _not_ going to wake up?"

"Of course not!" Hermione snapped. "That's _stupid_. I was Petrified for much longer than a week." Ginny looked shocked and a little irritated by Hermione's tetchy reply.

"Right," muttered Harry to the form on the bed, "right. Of course. She was _Petrified_. And _look_ how well she's turned out since."

Harry never said things like that. He was a bit surprised at himself for even thinking it.  As he sat and let Madam Pomfrey tend to his shoulder, he realised that he was glad he did, though; because—although he wasn't sure—he _thought_ he saw the corners of Ron's mouth turn up a bit. His best friend's eyes didn't open, but that ghost of a smile was enough to let Harry sleep a few hours that night.


	3. There Isn't Anything . . .

*          *          *          *

**Chapter 3: "There Isn't Anything ****. . ."**

*          *          *          *

Madam Pomfrey's assessment was right: it was nearly a week before Ron did wake up. For the first day or so, Harry kept checking back in the infirmary every few hours. After he'd tried to explain to Professor Dumbledore what had happened, he'd scrambled out of the headmaster's office all the way down there just in case.

The twins were in to see Ron almost every day. They kept reassuring everyone who inquired that there was absolutely nothing wrong with their brother, and that it was merely a ploy for sympathy from pretty girls, but Harry saw that they never laughed very long or very hard after they made the joke. Ginny wouldn't even smile at it. 

Harry whiled away the rest of his time trying to play against himself in chess, the way Ron did when he was bored. Somehow it didn't seem to work, and Harry found himself not caring what happened to any of his stupid pieces. One particularly awful game, he swept all of the other pieces off of the board and set the two kings next to each other, just to see what would happen. He hadn't realised, he thought to himself later, that chess pieces could use such colourful language, particularly when referencing the person directing them.  

Hermione took nervous, extra-lengthy notes in every class. She even enchanted a quill to transcribe Divination lessons, because, as she told Harry,

"Worthless, pathetic waste of time or not, he's _got_ to pass exams, and your notes are _completely_ illegible."

"_You_ can read them," Harry protested weakly. 

"That," Hermione replied airily, "is because I'm incredibly bright and have had nearly _three_ years of Arithmancy codes to practise breaking." Harry mock-glared at her, but he didn't honestly mind. It wasn't like he used the notes he took in Trelawney's class anyway. The notes were really just an excuse to draw absolutely lovely doodles of himself beating Malfoy at Quidditch. 

*          *          *          *

Harry was bending over a exceptionally awful brew in Potions when Professor McGonagall opened the dungeon door. Snape did not look happy with the interruption—his naturally sour face took on an even nastier appearance. Professor McGonagall, if she noticed at all, didn't acknowledge the shift in the Potion instructor's demeanour. 

"Mr Potter. Miss Granger." She uttered their names in a crisp, business-like tone. Harry and Hermione looked at each other and then stepped forward. "Come with me, please."

"Both Mr Potter and Miss Granger are in the middle of an important Potions lesson, Professor McGonagall. If you need them, perhaps it would be best served that you speak with them during your own lessons."

"That well may be," and here she paused for a moment "_Severus_. But I have been instructed by Professor Dumbledore to take both Miss Granger and Mr Potter up to visit the newly conscious Mr Weasley. Perhaps you might take your grievance up with the headmaster." Harry could barely keep the grin off of his face, but for the sake of any remaining chance of a less than horrible rest of term in Potions, he did so. 

Snape's mouth set in a thin line and he gave a curt nod. Harry snatched up his things and hurried out, with Hermione immediately behind. He didn't fancy attending the next couple of Potions lesson, but at least they got out of this one. And Ron was _awake_. That was worth more than a few unpleasant sessions with Professor Snape.

Professor McGonagall left them at the door to the infirmary. "You may go in. If you have any other lessons this afternoon, you must attend them. Otherwise, you may spend as much time as Madam Pomfrey will allow you." She turned and walked away, probably back towards the Transfiguration classroom.

They had to walk past a few other students who had ended up in the ward—some had the obvious marks of a Potions class gone horribly wrong (Harry thanked his lucky stars that he'd managed to escape most of the lesson when he saw them), and others whom Harry recognised from the Quidditch field appeared to be nursing some unpleasant Bludger-related injuries. 

He sat down next to Ron, who was sitting up and looking quite cheery for being where he was. Hermione seated herself and dropped her book bag on the other side of the bed, while Harry opened his jumbled backpack and took out the envelope he'd been carrying around ever since Ron had been out. His best friend accepted it with a grin. A pile of other cards, accumulated during the week, sat on the table next to Ron's bed, and an already half-eaten box of sweets from the twins and Ginny was open on top of the cards.  

"Ginny and Gred and Forge were in just a bit ago. That's the best part about getting hurt," Ron said cheekily. "Everyone gives you presents and sweets. If only you didn't actually have to get all smashed up first." He opened the envelope. "Harry! It's the limited edition Maimonides! The one where he actually comes out of the back and guilt-trips the other cards! _Brilliant_! Wow, thanks!" He grinned. "Now all I need is a packet of sugar quills and my day is complete." He looked around forlornly. "Haven't got any of those. But there's hope yet. I've only been up for a couple of hours."

"_I've_ got something for you, too," Hermione rummaged around in her bookbag. Ron grinned expectantly. She pulled out a large binder and plopped it down in front of him. He opened it and began to read the first page

" 'Transfiguration; Lecture da'—you brought me _notes_?" Ron looked incredulous. "_NOTES_?" 

"Well, yes." Hermione said defensively. "You've got to catch up on your work. Snape isn't going to let you get out of the quizzes coming up, is he?"

"I suppose not," Ron said ruefully. He accepted the huge binder and set it on his lap. Harry just stared. That was a lot of reading. How Hermione kept from having a stroke amazed him. Ron looked at the papers he was holding "Um, thank you."

Hermione started to pull even more out of her backpack. "And I've got thi—"

Before she got it all the way out, Ron held up his hand. "Hermione, I've _already_ got these. I can't do it all now."

"But—"

"I'll read them later. I promise. Promise. No more for now."

"Ron, it's no—"

"_Later_."

"Fine. If that's what you want." Hermione sighed, resigned, and closed her bag. "Later, then." She stood up and looked at her watch. "Potions is over. That's it for me, then. I'm going back to Gryffindor. There's an exam coming up in Arithmancy, and I have to get on it."

"You don't have to go _yet_," Ron protested. "You and Harry need to stay here and keep me from the clutches of Gred and Forge—I bet they're just searching for ways to do something to me while I'm up here. Lucky about the sweets there. I almost wouldn't eat them until I saw Ginny was in on it, too. She wouldn't try anything. At least—not right now. Anyway, the twins won't try anything if you two are around. Something about 'best behaviour' and Mum threatening them after what they did to Harry this summer."

Harry winced. That had not been particularly fun. No matter what the twins might have thought, it was not funny to land in the fireplace of the "All Nude Witches/All the Time" theatre, at the edge of where Knockturn Alley met Diagon Alley. For one thing, all of the paying clientele were quite surprised when he, a fifteen-year-old, completely dressed boy, managed to stumble out of the hearth onto the enchanted, undulating dance stage. And then after he'd dizzily climbed off, trying not to knock over any of the leggy glamoured-up women dancing, nor to stare very hard at their obvious lack of apparel, he'd staggered, head spinning from the rotating stage, out of the theatre to find the Weasleys standing there. 

He hadn't imagined it had looked very good to anyone. Mrs. Weasley especially did not appear impressed. However, she immediately seemed to sense who was responsible and Fred and George had spent the rest of the day on a rather short leash. Literally. 

That day Harry had made a note to himself—never anger a woman who is more than competent with a wand. 

On the plus side, though, he had ended up with a couple extra packets of Floo Powder ("in case of 'emergency'," Mr Weasley had said, winking), which he supposed were still somewhere in one of his robes' pockets. 

He shook his head and tuned back into the conversation before him.

Hermione was still trying to leave, saying "Ron, do you _want_ me to fail?"

"You won't fail!" Ron insisted, but it was too late. Hermione was gone. He sighed and leaned back against the headboard. He stared at the pile of paperwork on his lap. "Bloody hell," he muttered. "How can _anyone_ get this much out of Binns' lectures?"

"Look," Harry said, "If you want, I can sneak those back to the dorm and stow them under your bed. You can just tell Hermione you've read them, and she won't have to know."

"Yes, but that wouldn't be nice, would it?" Ron said softly. "She did go to all the trouble of making them. I might as well at least get through this, eh? Since I'm not going to be allowed out of here for another couple of days and all. And I do have to catch up. I don't think I could handle that other stack, too, but I'll read these."

"What'll you do with the other notes?" Harry asked.

"I'm hoping she forgets about giving them to me." Ron grimaced. "There's only so far I'll go for make-up work." Harry gave him a sceptical look. "What?"

"You think _Hermione_ will _forget_ about the other notes she has?"

"I could get lucky," Ron said hopefully.

"Right," Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course you will."

*          *          *          *

Ron was back in class the next day, miserable.  

"Pomfrey kicked me out," he moaned as they walked down the hall towards Professor McGonagall's class.  "Said I was too cheerful about being there. Well, I'm not cheerful now. I hate this," he complained. "Can't they let off a bit after you get knocked on your skull?"

Harry was really only half-listening as Ron went on about laughter clearly not being the best medicine in the school nurse's opinion. He was trying to listen to Hermione correct his homework as they continued down the corridor. 

She was leaning over the notebook in his hand as they continued down the hall. "Look, Harry, what you have to do is you need to change this part of the incantation. You've got it all perfectly right up until there—but that little error is throwing the whole thing of—" Hermione was suddenly interrupted by someone speaking loudly behind them.

"It's so conscientious that Potter and Granger have condescended to join the rest of the school in class when they could be on another one of their little romantic _sessions_ trying to bring more disgusting half-bloods into the world." The sickeningly sweet voice caught Harry's attention and he whirled around. Hermione's eyes narrowed and Ron looked fit to kill.

"How very adorable." Pansy Parkinson was smiling a gooey, fake smile. "Although I really don't know what the two of you are going to do with that _loser_ Weasley there after the wedding. Maybe he can sleep at the foot of your—" Before Harry could pull out his wand and give Pansy a nasty and hopefully painful hexing, he heard Hermione cut the other girl off mid-sentence.

"Oh, honestly!" She had lost her temper and any semblance of Prefect composure. "Yes. Yes, Pansy, you—you of the _remedial_ Transfiguration classes—have figured out the torrid secret that we have tried to hide in Gryffindor. Harry Potter and I are _desperately_ in love and have been having a secret affair for years." She rested the back of her hand against her forehead. "My heart doth belong to Harry. I but **_swoon_** at the thought of him." 

A very startled Harry found himself holding Hermione, who had dramatically propelled herself backwards into his arms and across his notebook. As suddenly as she had draped herself over him, she righted herself and continued loudly on her tirade. 

"Because, as you well know, it is impossible for two people to be friends without them desperately needing to snog each other. Might want to let _Malfoy_ in on that, Pansy. I'm sure that _he's_ unaware of that rule." 

The Slytherin paled considerably. 

"Or I could be wrong." Hermione looked up at Harry and Ron. "Do you two find yourselves making out when I'm not around?" 

They managed to shake their heads. Ron was gaping at her. "Oh. Well. Then it _is_ possible to be friends _without_ all of that. Huh. Poor Pansy. And here _I_ thought she might actually have had a clue. Shame." 

She swept into the classroom. The boys followed, leaving a speechless Pansy behind. 

They walked around the other students, some of whom were staring at Hermione with almost as much shock as Pansy had, and took their seats. 

"Wow, Hermione. That was something else." Harry was in awe of his friend, who was currently rifling through her bag for a notebook. She shrugged, still engrossed in the contents of her book bag.

"Shouldn't have lost my temper. Really, I should just have ignored her. I should have remembered to be the bigger person and not let her get to me." At this point, Ron seemed to find his voice. 

"Be the bigger person? Hermione, she and the other Slytherins say cutting things to you every _day. _You ignore them and ignore them and they don't stop. You lose your temper _twice_ in five _years_ and you think _you're_ the one who's got a problem?" He made a face. "I thought what you did was great." Hermione's mouth quirked up a little as she pulled out her book.

"Yes, well. It _was_ satisfying. But don't expect to see me doing that again soon."

"Of course not, oh Prefect Hermione." Ron rolled his eyes. "Anyway, do either of you have an extra quill?" He looked sheepish. 

"You forgot _again_?" Harry rummaged around in his bag, found a slightly battered quill and handed it to his friend.

"No, I just had one, but I sort of—broke mine. Stupid fragile things. They ought to make them sturdier." Ron regarded his ink-stained fingers and the fresh smudges on his textbook from carrying it. "Doesn't matter, I'll get a new one later. Thanks, Harry." 

"You really should be more careful," Hermione said absently, flipping through the pages of her Transfiguration homework.  Ron ignored her.  

*          *          *          *

They left Transfiguration and Harry frowned, continuing on with the train of thought he'd abandoned partway through class in favour of catching the escaping half-mouse/half ice-cream cone that had taken off from his desk, leaving a drippy mess. What was this whole thing about anyway? He hadn't had any more dreams, and the masked wizards hadn't put in any more appearances that he knew of. Dumbledore hadn't really given him any answers about what any of it meant

"They wanted something." Hermione said, as if reading his mind. "They were looking for something."

"Well, yeah." Ron raised an eyebrow at her, cottoning on to what she was talking about. "Kind of obvious there. Not what I'd expect out of a Prefect." Hermione pointedly did not respond to him. 

"Whatever it is," Harry said grimly, "it's got to do with that paper. We need to get it."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other and then at Harry, their faces set in agreement.  

"We'll do it," Hermione said quietly.

"Of _course_ we'll do it." Ron stated, as though there was no other way for it to be. "All we've got to do is figure out _what_ the paper is and get it _before_ any of those Death-Eaters do. It's just like the Philosopher's Stone first year. Easy."

Hermione was raising her hand as if she was already in their next class. Harry and Ron exchanged a look. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Hermione?" he said.

"Erm—not to put a damper on this, but what if they do find it first?" Her voice was small. "How will we get it then?"

"We take it." Ron shrugged. "We'll figure that out if it happens and we have to."

Harry felt a bit uneasy about having that as the plan. He had thought that they might do some actual preparation before they leaped into this. Even just an hour of thinking would come up with something a touch more specific than what Ron suggested. He was about to open his mouth and say so, when Hermione beat him to the punch

"We can't just go in with that as our back-up plan," she complained. "That's not a plan. That's not even an _idea_. What if someone gets hurt?" Her eyes were worried. Ron raised an eyebrow.

"Well," he joked, running his hand through his hair, "it wouldn't be the first time. I'm sure it won't be the last, either. Should get our pyjamas ready for the upcoming stay in the infirmary. Or figure out appropriate epitaphs. Leave notes for the next-of-kin." Hermione whipped around.

Harry hadn't realised how very strong his other friend was. She was maybe only three or so inches shorter than his five feet ten, but he was used to thinking of her as "the girl," and hadn't anticipated that she'd have any real physical power. So when Hermione pinned Ron back against the corridor wall by his shoulders, Harry was more than a little surprised. Ron looked shocked as Harry and he didn't even appear to resist.  

"That's not happening." She glared at the tall boy. "It's not. That's not even funny. Not at all. Don't you _ever_ joke about that. There isn't _anything_ that could make that funny. Do you understand me?" She was looking at him with that strange, determined expression that she got sometimes. "I'm not going to lose you." She turned to Harry. "_Either_ of you." She let go of Ron and fled. Harry saw tears in her eyes as she stormed off, probably towards the girls' dormitory.

Ron, still looking stunned, stared after her. "What the hell was that?" he demanded.

Harry shook his head slowly, gaping. "I have no idea. I don't think I want to know." 

Ron shrugged nervously. They stood there a minute, silently, until Ron said, "Harry, you know I don't mean it, don't you? I don't really think we'll get killed. We can't." He grinned, still a bit uncomfortably, "After all, you're the hero and we're your trusty sidekicks. Ruins the show if anything happens to us. Ratings would drop."  

Harry looked back. "You're not a sidekick, Ron. You're a lot better than that. You shouldn't think that about yourself." Ron's smile faded, but the expression in his eyes was in some way better than a smile. Harry went on quickly, as this was becoming a bit weird. Some things people should just know and save you the trouble of having to say them. 

He tried to lighten the mood. "I'm not much of a hero anyway." Ron seemed puzzled. "Heroes have beautiful women falling all over them. Show me a long queue of them after me and then we'll talk he—" Harry's sentence was interrupted by Ron cuffing him on the back of the head. 

"Beautiful women? You want _BEAUTIFUL_ women? Are you saying my sister's_ ugly_? She was mad about you!" He snorted. "Probably still is. _Not_ the point, though."

"I'm not saying anything about your sister. Nothing. I'll just get myself in trouble." Harry held his hands up defensively.

"Oh, I see. So there's something for you to get in _trouble_ about. What have you been doing to my baby sister?" Ron advanced on Harry, a bit menacingly. "_What_ were you doing while I was unconscious?"

"Nothing! I swear! Nothing! Remember? I like _Cho_! CHO!" Harry turned bright red as he realised how very loudly he'd said that. 

 "So you haven't done anything with Ginny?"

"NO! Of course not."

" 'Of _course_ not?' Is there something _wrong_ with her? She's smart, funny—and I've heard the fourth-years in our dormitory raving about her looks. Before they know I'm liste—" Ron suddenly mouthed silently like a fish out of water and clutched his throat. He turned an angry shade of scarlet and glared at Harry. 

Harry put his wand back in his pocket and fled.

That had been a particularly effective Muting Charm.    

*          *          *          *


	4. Listen Completely . . .

*          *          *          *

Chapter 4:  A Sort of Antipathy. . . 

*          *          *          *

"HAH!" Hermione cried triumphantly. Several seventh years glared in her direction. Apparently their N.E.W.T.S. studying was not going well. Harry looked up from the book he was unfortunately immersed in. 

Ron raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"Harry, did you say that it was a parchment—was it just a piece of paper or was it like a scroll?" She looked at him expectantly.

Harry furrowed his brow. "Um. I think . . .scroll—probably an unrolled scroll."

"Then I've got something. You said that the trees seemed to be important—and that sounds very Druidic to me—so this fits pretty well, then." She pushed "Collections of the Ministry of Magic: An Overly-Long Guide" towards the boys. They looked at it, nearly knocking heads as they did so.

"Cy Nous Dit:" 

The common name for a late medieval era set of Muggle scrolls based on the legends of   King Arthur. Each short tale in the 

series ends with the Old French phrase "cy nous dit. . ." translated "so we are told," and a description of a moral that the collector of the stories wanted the reader to be aware of.   

Modern wizarding research, in particular that completed by the great Newton Herschodotus, has found evidence that these Muggle scrolls may actually be based on a set of Druidic scrolls that had the power to influence outside events through what was written upon them—the phrase on the Muggle scrolls indicates not only the moral, but also the outcome of the tale. Such magic would have been extraordinarily complex, even for the Druids, as the parchments appear to influence probability of future events, although their exact mechanism remains unknown. Attempts to replicate their effects on modern scrolls have, as of this edition, been unsuccessful. Whether the scrolls might also work retrospectively is not known, due to both the fact that almost all of these parchments have, sadly, been lost, with the exception of a few extant fragments kept in the Special Collections of the Ministry of Magic's Archives Department, and also to the fragile condition of these fragments, limiting the extent of practical research possible.

These fragments are available for viewing by researchers in the field of Magical Mechanisms and historians with special permission from the Minister of Magic. Applications for the viewings are available at the Ministry.

"So what does that mean?" Ron looked a bit puzzled. "What does it really tell us?"

"Well, it says that the scrolls affect probability. And if they're like other magical items, they lose power over time, which means you couldn't force someone to commit murder, if they weren't the kind of person to do such a thing, for example. But if you had someone who was already very powerful and just needed a slight push to get ahead, and that person found say, an entire scroll, then . . ."

"Then that person could tip the scales _just_ enough," Harry said. "That's why the Death-Eaters would be after it. They're trying to tip the scales."

Hermione nodded. "Just enough to win.'

"Is there a time frame for this kind of thing, Hermione?" he asked.

"Before them—I don't know. The Druid calendar—I should _know_ this. The power of most of their creations waxes and wanes over the course of a solar year." She sighed, exasperated. "The Druids always enchanted things for specific purposes." 

"Oh, right, and wizards today don't do that." Ron rolled his eyes. 

"Have you _talked_ to the twins lately?" She went on. "Anyway, it would depend on what _kind_ of scroll we were dealing with as to what time of year it would be _most_ powerful. I don't know what kind of scroll you're seeing, Harry."

"What good are you, then, Hermione?" Ron grinned at her. She gave him a look. "I'm kidding. You found _this_, didn't you?" It seemed to be enough, because Hermione, rather than getting into another argument, just went back to reading.

"Now we only have to find out _when_. Did you find anything there, Harry?"

"Not yet. I'm not having a lot of luck with it. Can you narrow it down?"

"I've got this," she said and indicated a paper on which she had scrawled what appeared to be a calendar with a few calculations on it.

"It's a start." Harry said yawning. "Let's go to bed. We'll finish in the morning." 

As they went up to Gryffindor, Harry noticed that pumpkins lined the hall, ready to be brought in for the feast the next evening. He wondered if the house elves carved them, or if they were done magically. He decided not to ask Hermione if it was one of the elves' responsibilities. He doubted that the spiel he'd receive would improve his mood much.

*          *          *          *

Had one been an outside observer the following day, it would have appeared that Harry Potter was actually doing his Divination homework. His mind, however, was in fact drifting over a thousand things, not the least of which was the nearly incomprehensible calendar that Hermione had scrawled down. He didn't even hear her try to remind him about their practise session for Charms later that night, after the Halloween feast, and he was startled, though glad, when Ron's much louder voice break into his thoughts.

"Exploding Snap, anyone? Her_mi_one, that essay's not due for another week. Put it down and play. It's _Halloween_. Relax."  

"No, I've finished my essay already. I'd like to finish what I'm doing now though before we start, all right? Only take a minute." Hermione was scrawling on a piece of parchment that she had propped up in her Transfiguration book.  

"Oh, then far be it from us to keep you from your pressing letter-writing." Ron didn't look up from the cards he was shuffling. "I'm sure _Vicky_ needs the update on how _his little woman_ is doing."

**SLAM! **

The Transfiguration book hit the table, hard. Harry jumped. The last time he had seen Hermione get this angry, Draco Malfoy had ended up with a black eye and a bloody nose. She leaned across the table, seething. She was almost nose-to-nose with Ron. 

"That's it. I've had it. What do you want to know about Viktor and me?" Hermione's voice was deadly. "Come on, Ron. Ask me. What. Do. You. Want. To. Know?"  

Ron was silent. 

Harry felt like he'd rather be under the table, or indeed, anywhere else but where he was right now. The Forbidden Forest, detention, in the path of the Whomping Willow. Any of those would do. He sank down in his seat, trying to avoid the line of fire. 

"Want to know if I went to Bulgaria? Yes. With my parents. For a week. It was lovely."

Ron looked at her, eyes slitted and arms crossed. Hermione went on. 

"That's not interesting enough for you. I see. Want to know if I've kissed him?"

Ron's eyes widened and then narrowed again. 

 "What else do you want to know? WHAT ELSE?" Hermione's voice rose sharply. "Heard enough, have you? Don't want to know more? Don't want to know about _fraternising with the enemy_? _Why_ can't you just leave me _alone_?" Her voice cracked as it got louder and higher.

The entire common room was watching now. Neville Longbottom looked terrified. Harry slunk lower in his chair. Ron was ghost-white, staring furiously at her. He didn't say anything.

Hermione sat down again. The outburst had drained her, and her voice was barely above a whisper.

"You idiot. You complete _idiot_. You don't know anything. Stop. Please just—" and she seemed to change her mind. 

"No. Go on," she said, "say what you like. Doesn't matter to me. Not anymore." 

Hermione looked at Ron with such sad eyes that Harry couldn't see how insulting her more would be anything less than kicking a puppy. 

"Really." Ron's tone was icy. "Well, that's a comfort."  Carefully, Hermione got up, pushed her chair in and walked up to the girls' dormitory. 

Harry wanted to grab his best friend and shake him. 

"What is your problem, mate?"

"Nothing." Ron's face assumed that mulish look it took to adopting every so often since last year's Yule Ball. 

"Well, then if there's nothing wrong, leave her alone about Krum." Harry glared at Ron. 

"She hardly needs a knight in shining armour to protect her, Harry. We _are_ discussing the girl who can hex anyone in a three-mile-radius. And she certainly can fight back." Ron snapped. "Did you _not_ notice the scene she put on only thirty seconds ago?"   

Harry tried another approach.

"Ron, d'you ever think that maybe this isn't just about _Hermione_?" 

"And what else would it be about, then?" Ron shot Harry a look that could bore through steel. Harry switched tactics again.    

"You know, Viktor doesn't seem to have been anything but nice to Hermione. Ron, he came from a school where we know the headmaster was a former Death Eater and certainly was an unpleasant human being in all other respects. It must have taken some nerve to bring a girl from a Muggle background to the ball. I think it says a lot about him that he liked Hermione enough to risk that." From the expression on Ron's face, Harry knew that this was probably not a good approach either. 

This was quickly getting nowhere. He sighed.

"Are we going to play, or not?" Ron shrugged and dealt the cards.

They had been playing for only a few minutes when, in the heat of the game, Harry knocked a book off of the table with his elbow.  

"Oh," he said, "Hermione left all of her things down here. You think she's coming back?" Harry knew that the answer was probably no. The bushy-haired Prefect was probably gone for the evening.

"Oh! Um, I'll bring them up to her." Ginny Weasley, who had been unfortunate enough to be sitting on a nearby sofa when Hermione and Ron had started fighting, got up and reached quickly for Hermione's bookbag. But she reached too quickly, and the bag toppled. A box with a scroll attached to the top tumbled out of it, along with a pile of parchments and books. Ginny dropped to her knees and began to pick up the scattered supplies. 

Across the room, Parvati Patil giggled. "Oooh. Hermione got cauuught."

Ron glared at her. "What are you talking about?" 

"Nothing." replied Parvati in a tone implying that she knew, or at least she thought she knew, very well there was, in fact, _something_ that she was talking about. Ron let out an exasperated sigh and reached down to collect some of the things on the floor. He picked up the book that Hermione had been using to hold up her letter, and the parchment fluttered out. He caught it and was about to examine it when—

"Hey! Give that here," and Ginny grabbed at what her brother was holding. The parchment tore and Ron was left with only a small bit of it.

"What?" Ron snarled. "I'm just trying to help, that's all. I don't _care_ if it's some stupid letter to Vicky. Whatever. . ." and he trailed off as he actually looked at what he held in his hand. Suddenly he crumpled it up. "Here." he said shortly, and handed it to Ginny. She kept glaring at him as she shoved it into the pocket of her robes. She took the box next and slipped it into Hermione's bag. Harry saw the front of the box clearly for a moment. It was just a box of sugar quills. Didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary—just late-night study food, probably. Parvati was certainly one of the weirder people Harry knew, and given his experience, that was saying a lot.  

Hermione appeared at the entrance to the common room. 

"Oh! My _things_!" she exclaimed.

"I know," Ginny said a bit ruefully. "I was going to bring them up to you—but I managed to knock them over. See what comes of being around boys your whole life—you lose all of your natural feminine grace."

Hermione giggled. "_Terrible_ things, boys are." She stopped smiling. She and Ginny finished putting her bag together and Hermione stood. She took a deep breath and touched Ron's shoulder. He looked up at her from where he was kneeling.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have yelled like that. I was angry. I mean—you _didn't_ have any right—but neither did I."  

"Well—I shouldn't—" Ron sounded awkward. "I mean—I'm sorry, too."

Hermione shrugged. "It's okay. I mean, I really wish you wouldn't. But it's okay."

Ron smiled a little. "Okay." He looked at her again. "Wait. Why _are_ you down here so early? Normally you just go off and sulk for a long time." Hermione pursed her lips. "Erm—you, you know, anyway—you never come back. Why'd you come back?" 

"Detention." Hermione looked sour. "I didn't want to leave my books here for the whole time I was gone." 

"Oh, the Prefect got detention? On her own? _Without_ the assistance of her best friends?" Ron said mischievously. "Amazing. I'm never taking all the blame for getting in trouble again." Hermione really did glare at him this time.

Harry was curious. He'd just been sitting there quietly, adopting his usual policy of non-interference, but he wanted to know what was going on. "What did you do, Hermione?" 

She shrugged, the sour expression still on her face. "I went out for a walk the other night after lights out. Needed the fresh air before I went back to studying. Filch caught me. Now I've got to help clean out the unused dungeons." 

"Of course," Ron shook his head. "It was about _studying_. Couldn't even get into proper trouble, schoolwork-free. Not Hermione." Hermione flushed. 

"Shut _up_, Ron. Anyway, I need to get down there. Don't you two forget about our practise after, in the Charms classroom." She left the common room, her bookbag slung over her shoulder.

"Lucky she's got that box of sugar quills to get through the ordeal. Shame she has to miss the Feast, though." Harry said. Ginny shot him a look that he couldn't quite read. He had a feeling that he'd done something wrong, but he wasn't quite sure what. He moved on "Next thing you know, she'll be getting hauled into McGonagall's office every day like the twins." 

"In there with Fred and George. Can't you just _see_ it?" Ginny smiled at the thought. She rolled her eyes and went over to join some fourth-years who were playing a raucous game with a pair of enchanted dice. Harry looked to Ron to see what his best friend thought about that idea.

Ron wasn't paying attention. He was staring into space. Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

"Something bothering you, Ron?"

Ron's head snapped up. "Huh? No—it's nothing. Never mind. It's just—was that a box of sugar quills? Hermione doesn't eat sug—never mind. It's not _anything_." He looked away, at the floor this time. "Those dentists . . ." Ron trailed off. "Nothing. Sorry. Play cards again before we go down?" Harry shrugged.

"Why not?" 

Harry won that round.

*          *          *          *

            It was quite late when Hermione met them in the Charms classroom. She asked about the feast and Ron and Harry nearly fell over laughing as they described how Seamus had accidentally managed to make a pumpkin floating over the Head Table fall directly onto Professor Flitwick, and how the tiny wizard had squeaked furiously for five minutes until the other teachers could get his new, overlarge head off of him. She brushed off questions about the nature of her detention, saying only that it was "_not_ fun," and went straight to drilling Harry and Ron on the charms they were supposed to use on the exam. 

            A good fifteen minutes later, it was obvious that the session was not going well. Hermione was antsy, and she was becoming less and less tolerant of what she thought were lapses in her best friends' magical repertoires.

Ron fled to the dormitory, mumbling something about needing another book, and that he'd be right back, but Harry secretly thought it was just a way to escape Hermione's iron fist.

"HARRY! Can't you pay attention properly for once?" He looked at her. After the miserable failure that was his last attempt at a _Quondamus_ enchantment, he wasn't in a mood that was any better.

            "You think this is so easy, you should be the one shooting the targets. You make them harder than Flitwick will. Yours move too much."

"So what you're saying is that you only care about the grade and not whether or not these spells will even be useful to you, right?" She stamped her foot. "THESE are NOT just for a grade. What if you actually NEED them?" Finally she rolled her eyes. "Fine. If you don't want to, we won't. But if you can hit my targets, you'll be sure to hit all of the ones Professor Flitwick uses and you'll probably get top scores and that will make up for whatever mediocre grade you get in Potions. How's that for a good reason?" 

Harry shrugged. "Whatever, Hermione." He stood across the room from her, arms crossed. A twinge of guilt hit him. Hermione, bossy attitude and all, was just trying to help, and she was already pretty upset between all of the fighting and the detention. He didn't need to add to that, and if taking on extra-difficult Charms assignments was the way to help her feel better, then fine. He'd do it. "One more batch," he relented. "Then I'm going to bed. The exam's in two days and if I'm sleep-deprived during it, I won't pass anyway."

She smiled broadly. "I knew you'd keep at it, Harry. You'll do wonderfully on the test. You'll be _brilliant_." Hermione practically ran to her position, bumping the half-open door to the classroom so that it swung all the way back on its hinges and stayed there. "Turn around!" Harry sighed, but faced the wall obligingly. "**Aviatriseum**!" He thought he heard the small pop from the end of her wand. Internally he began to count . . . 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . Go!  

Harry spun around. His wand pointed at the new target.

 "_Scopolamia_!" The target dropped with a surprised hoot. A little puff of feathers drifted around it. 

Hermione's eyes were round. She and Harry looked at each other and then at the tiny owl on the floor.

"Congratulations, Harry. You've got it. But you've just taken out Pigwidgeon." 

*          *          *          *

"What's Pig doing _here_?"

"I don't know—he's _Pig_. Probably got all mixed up and lost."

"Can't we reverse it?"

"Not exactly."

**"'NOT EXACTLY'?!" **

"Well, it's not _permanent_; it wears off. But you just have to wait it out. That would be why we were using charmed targets. Honestly, Harry, don't you ever _read_?"

"Not the _point_ right now, Hermione. How long does it take to wear off?"

"Eight hours, more or less."

"EIGHT _HOURS_, MORE OR LESS?" Harry lowered his voice. "What," he muttered, "am I going to tell Ron? 'Sorry, but your poor spastic owl happened to wander into our Charms practice and, well, he got whacked. Don't worry, though, he'll be fine in EIGHT HOURS, MORE OR LESS.' " 

"That's one option. The truth." Hermione glared at him. Then her gaze softened and she gave in. "Or you can tell him you had to borrow Pig for the mail and just hide the poor little guy for the night." Harry didn't look thrilled with that idea. "Fine. Tell him _I_ did it accidentally. He can't get any angrier with me than he is already."  

"I can't say _that_. It's not true. And it's not fair to you. Anyway, Ron's not really angry with you anym—" Hermione cut him off. 

"He thinks I would do it anyway. Just say that we were practising blind attacks. I was standing like so," at this she faced a wall, wand out. "I heard what I thought was the next target so I spun around." She pantomimed the action. "And I Charmed it before I realized it was Pigwidgeon." 

Harry was about to say he'd rather come clean to Ron when there was a gasp behind them. Someone had come into the room. Ron dropped his book bag with a clunk.

"You did WHAT?!" he roared. "Pig!? You've KILLED my ruddy owl." He hurried to the red and gold scarf in which Pig was nestled. 

"He'll be all right in eight hours or so," Hermione sounded chagrined. 

"EIGHT HOURS?!?! _What_ did you do to him?" 

"It wasn't her," Harry tried to say. "I was the one who put Scopolam—"

"Don't even _try_ to cover for her, Harry! It won't work," snapped Ron. He turned on his heel, carrying the tiny owl. As he slammed the door, they heard him growl, "What is her trouble with other people's pets?" Hermione gave Harry a weak smile.

"See? Problem solved." She gathered up her books and shoved them in her bag.

Harry was reminded yet again how much he hated it when his friends fought. Sighing, he picked up his own things and followed Hermione back to Gryffindor. 

He went up the stairs to the boys' fifth year dormitory and promptly got himself deep in the middle of a debate with Ron, who was lying angrily on his bed, facing the canopy ceiling of his four-poster. The unconscious form of Pigwidgeon was cuddled up, quite cosily, Harry thought, on Ron's pillow, still wrapped in Hermione's scarf. 

From the way their conversation was starting off, Harry didn't think he had much of a chance of winning. He kept trying anyway.  "Ron, look, you don't understand—it wasn't like that. _I _was the one wh—"

 "Oh, shut UP with this nobility thing already, Harry! You know damn well she did it, and I'm certainly not going to give in and back down just on your say-so." Ron turned and glared at the wall. "_I'm_ not the one with the potential Death-Eater for a boyfriend. _I'm_ not the one who made a huge scene in the common room. And _I'm_ not the one who tried to kill my supposed friend's pet owl. Can't even blame it on—" Ron suddenly stopped speaking.

"Crookshanks didn't _actually_ kill Scabbers." Harry had trouble saying the name without open bitterness in it. Ron turned back from facing the wall.

"Better if he had though." He bit his lip in thought. "Harry . . ."

"_Look_, that wasn't your fault, okay?" Harry shook his head. "I didn't know. There wasn't any way you—"

"The cat did. God, I wish . . ." Ron pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, that's not the point here, is it?" He raised his head. "But PIG, even Crookshanks knew he was nothing but a tiny annoying owl . . ."

"Ron, I am _trying_ to explain here. Just _listen_." His best friend folded his arms again.

They went on like that for quite awhile, Harry trying to reason with Ron as Harry dug out his pyjamas and got ready for bed, while Ron just kept shaking his head.

 Finally, Harry made his last attempt. "Look, it's not fair to make me be the go-between here. Do you want this to be like third year all over again? D'you remember that?"

The redhead's expression changed, and a flash of what looked like regret passed over it. But "Hrmmph," was all he said.  Harry glared at him.

"Fine. If you're willing to say 'sod off!' after five years of friendship, I'm not getting in your way anymore." He threw his dressing robe on over his pyjamas, left the fifth years' room and walked down the stairs. He didn't notice the slouching figure that followed him a few moments later.

A series of yawns overtook him as he entered the Gryffindor common room. He stifled them. He could sleep in, as long as nobody (well, nobody meaning _Hermione_, who would never let him or Ron live that sort of thing down) cared if he skived off his first class tomorrow, and he figured he'd better talk to Hermione. He had no idea how he ended up feeling like the Great Negotiator in their friendship. Well, except for fourth year, when he and Ron had kind of forced Hermione into that role. He winced at the memory, and pushed it from his thoughts.

Hermione was curled up on the couch, staring at nothing. She was wearing her pyjamas and a pair of slippers. She didn't seem to see him come in to the otherwise empty room.

"What's up, Hermione?" Harry sat down beside her. She looked up, smiling faintly. 

"I don't know. One of those weird 'white nights,' I suppose. I just can't get rid of this feeling that something awful is going to happen."

Harry looked at her for a minute. He understood that feeling better than he hoped she ever would. Hermione caught the look in his eyes and grimaced as the implications of what she'd said to him hit her. Trying to cover the awkward moment, Harry teased "Well, we _are_ at Hogwarts. So far every year we've been here, something _has_ happened and we've managed to be involved. And this year Voldemort is out there, alive, again. Plus, we've already got this weird paper thing to figure out . . . I don't know, Hermione, Trelawney may be right about you and your lack of an Inner Eye. It doesn't take a Professor of Divination to read between the lines." She scowled at him, but Harry thought he saw a bit of a smile buried under it.

"I _know_ that. It must be the dark. Things always seem more foreboding at night."

"And you call yourself a Gryffindor? Lucky that you have such manly friends to keep their eyes on you." Hermione swiped at him, but Harry ducked. She was laughing. 

"What would I do without you around to put things in perspective?" Her voice turned serious. "I do love you, Harry, you know that, don't you?" She reached over and squeezed his hand. He grinned back. "You're one of the _best_ friends I've ever had."

" 'Course you love me. All women love Harry Potter. Comes with the scar," he said, tapping his forehead knowingly. She laughed again and dropped his hand.    

 "You _are_ a good friend, Harry. Thank you." She hesitated, looking down. "It's just this thing with Ron. I'm at the end of my rope. I can't _do_ this anymore, Harry. I'm sick of it. Every time I turn around, it's another comment. It gets to me. Then I go off and say things that I don't even want to say. Things that I don't even really . . ." She stopped and ran her hand through her hair. An unreadable expression flickered across her face. "I mean, is he _blind_? Can't he _see_ that—that Viktor and I are not a couple?" Harry had the unmistakable feeling she had been about to say something else, but he just sat there, patting her shoulder. "I _hate_ it so much." 

Neither of them noticed the figure in the doorway leave.

 Hermione turned towards her friend, looking at him closely. 

"You know, you should talk to Cho Chang, Harry, really you should." 

The abrupt subject change startled him. He was speechless. Harry avoided looking at Hermione as he gathered his newly scattered thoughts and responded.

"I don't know if I can, after Cedric." 

"I think she'd appreciate it. When you lose someone that close to you, well, it hurts more than you think anything could ever hurt." Harry was apprehensive. 

"I don't know, Hermione. It seems . . . weird. Wouldn't that be taking advantage of her? I mean—I _like_ her." He blushed as he said the last part quickly and softly.

"Harry, you don't like _her_. You like who you think she is. You barely know _her_. I know her even less. But I can tell you Cho needs to talk to someone who understands. You're the person who probably understands what she's been going through the most." 

She sighed impatiently. "Look. I'm not saying hit on her. As a matter of fact, as a girl standing up for a member of my gender and as your friend, I say don't do that. I'll come after you with some very unpleasant hexes if you even _think_ about doing that. But talk to her. I think someone making the extra effort to be friendly would mean a lot to her."

Harry hadn't thought of it that way. "Well, we'll see," was all he said. A thought occurred to him.

"Hermione?"

"Mmm?" She was staring into the fire, lost in thought. 

"_Did_ you kiss Viktor Krum?" She smiled mischievously.

"Yes. Once." Harry gaped at her. "Oh, _stop_ it, Harry. You're not my father. It was last year. It was . . . nice," she finished. Then she giggled. "Fun, too. But it wasn't _right_. After that, I knew I didn't feel the same way that he did about me. We've just been friends since." Her gaze softened. "He is incredibly kind, though." She got up. "Think I'll try for a few hours sleep. Good night."

Harry wasn't sure if he'd really helped. He hoped so.

*          *          *          *

_He was in the same room in the tower. But for some reason, instead of merely seeming otherworldly, the room had a new, nastier sense about it. As a matter of fact, where he was seemed damned unpleasant, even though he couldn't yet put his finger on why._

_He could hear a scratching, the sound of a quill on parchment. Harry turned, trying to find where it was coming from. There was another person in the room—but he knew it wasn't the girl. Where was she? Something about this was wrong. No one was supposed to be here now._

_The light shining on the desk let Harry see what the person was doing. Something glinted in the light. It was a silver hand, holding the parchment down. It seemed to be shimmering again, but the colours were all wrong—it was a violation of what he had seen the last time. A familiar scrawl appeared, trying to overwrite the ancient script Harry has seen. He couldn't make out what it said. He squinted, but the images were fading too fast for him to read. A cold voice came from behind the scribe, _

_"Failure again, Wormta—?"_

Harry's eyes snapped open. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, for a moment. Great. It was morning and the room was empty except for Ron and himself. Ron was still snoring peacefully in the bed next to him. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to banish the memory. God, he loathed these dreams. This one wasn't so terrible—at least no one had been murdered—but he hated that so much of the time he was supposed to spend resting was devoted to the people who were pretty much the reason he would want to have nice escapist dreams. 

Shakily, he got out of bed and put on his robe. Maybe a shower would clear his head and remove the remnants of unease that were twisting in his stomach. He walked down the hall and into the boys' bathroom. He stripped and got into the showers. The steam rose up around him and he leaned back against the tiled walls. 

This meaningful dream thing was not all that people thought it was. He'd gladly trade them all for an everyday nightmare about being naked in a final examination. 

_So now Voldemort **is** involved now for certain. **Fabulous**._

He closed his eyes and let the water wash over his face. Ron's words came back to him.

(You're the hero . . .)

_Yeah, **fat** lot of heroism I'm good for. _

_All I've ever done is let things happen . . ._

_Ron and the chess match. . .Hermione getting Petrified . . . Wormtail getting away. . . Cedric. . ._

And worst of all. . .

_(No, not Harry, please not Harry)_

_(A tiny hand reaching out)_

_(Mumma?)_

His eyes opened. 

_Oh God. _

Every time he heard his mum's last minutes in his head, it felt like he remembered a little more. 

Maybe I don't remember it at all . . . maybe I'm just trying to remember **anything** and so my mind's making it up.

The entire pleasant train of thought trailed him back to his room, and he dressed automatically, lost in speculation. He gathered up his books and threw them violently into his bag. 

_Why do I have to keep **thinking** about this stuff? Why can't I just let it go for even **five** bloody minutes?_

Harry walked down to the Great Hall. He wasn't very hungry, but at least there'd be people there.  It was slightly later than he was accustomed to going to breakfast, so he was surprised to see people still at the tables. He took a deep breath, letting the last of the unpleasant dream slip to the back of his mind and looked around to see who was at the Gryffindor table. 

Hermione was not sitting in her usual place at breakfast. In the absence of other company, she had scooted down to sit across from Ginny, and the two of them were chatting animatedly about something that Harry couldn't quite catch. Ginny was laughing at something Hermione had said. Hermione grinned back at the younger girl. She seemed to be much better this morning. Maybe the talk had helped. Or maybe Ginny had been able to provide some "girl" support. He didn't know if he was very good with that kind of thing. He was glad that, for whatever reason, Hermione looked like she was back to herself. 

Ron was even later than Harry. He plunked himself down next to the shorter boy and began to butter his toast. He absently started eating as he looked over a gigantic, slightly evil-smelling tome, the likes of which could only indicate a Potions text. Harry wrinkled his nose.  

"Lord, Ron, instead of inflicting that on us, get Hermione down here after breakfast to help with that assignment. It'll go faster than you struggling through those eight chapters on your own and the rest of us won't have to endure that awful odour."

Ron kept flipping through stained pages. "Even if I'd forgiven her about Pig—which I'm _not_ saying I have, by the way—it wouldn't matter. _She's_ still upset."

"How do you know? She seems like she's doing fine—look at her over there with Ginny. I talked to her last night and I think she just needed to get it out of her system. You know how she gets—she gets her nose out of joint and then she calms down and it all sorts itself out."

"Harry." Ron's tone was odd, half-"Are you an idiot?" and half-something that Harry couldn't put his finger on. "She's not eating anything." Harry looked at Hermione again. Ron was right. There was no tray, empty or otherwise in front of Hermione. And was it a trick of the light or were her eyes were slightly shadowed? Was there a strain in her smile? He looked again, and the shadows had disappeared. Must have been his imagination.   

"Maybe she's just not hungry. Maybe she can smell that _book_ down there."

"The last time she skipped a meal was during the _spew _crisis of 1994. She never misses breakfast unless something's really wrong. Most important meal of the day." Ron sounded exasperated. "Like clockwork, that one." He glowered at his coffee and went back to the vile book in front of him. He didn't seem open to further conversation.

Harry rolled his eyes. He turned his attention to the girls at the end of the Gryffindor table and called

"Hey, Hermione! Didn't you say you'd help me with my Transfiguration essay before class?" She looked surprised, but a bit grateful. 

"Yes, of course I'll help." Her eyes flickered to Ron and then down at her book bag. "I'll grab some stuff from my room. What if I meet you in the common room in fifteen minutes or so?" Hermione left the Great Hall hurriedly. 

Ron hadn't even looked up once from his book.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Look, I'm going to go get some studying in. If you feel more friendly later on, you should come too." 

Ron snorted. "No thanks. I'll keep what's left of my owl safe instead."

Harry couldn't resist a parting shot. "All right, don't come. But you two should really work this out." He gathered up his things and left. As he traipsed down the corridor to the common room, Harry wondered why _he_ hadn't realised that Hermione never skipped breakfast.


	5. Not In The Stars

*          *          *          *

**Chapter 5: Not In The Stars . . .**

*          *          *          * 

Harry and Ron were hunched over tables in the library, poring over books. For once Hermione had not come along. Of course, that was because it was _technically_ during their Divination class, and she had Arithmancy at that time, so she could hardly be expected to be there. Especially as she didn't know that they were currently not flopped in soporific poufs writing nonsense about the future. Probably even if she could have, she might not have come anyway, given the current tension between herself and Ron. 

Harry sighed. He closed his book loudly, and pushed his chair back. Madam Pince glared at him, but he pretended that he couldn't see her. 

"I can't figure this out, Ron." He let out an exasperated breath and gestured at the parchment in front of him. "Look, _you_ do the calculations. Because I keep getting the same answer every time and I know it's wrong."

Ron looked at him. "You get an _answer_? Well, you're one up on me then. I'm not even getting that. I end up with a bunch of incoherent rubbish. I can't make heads or tails of it. Maybe we should have gone to class. Couldn't be worse than this." He shook his head. "Never mind. It's Trelawney. It could." He leaned on his hands and stared down at the book in front of him. "What're you getting anyway? Maybe it'll be a start."

"See—I figured this out—the yew tree represents death in Druid belief, so the scroll should be associated with that. On their calendar that's . . ." Harry squinted and tried to read his own writing. "Samhain. But on _our_ calendar, that translates into Halloween." He paused. "But that can't be right. Halloween was last night. We'd have heard if anything happened."

"You'd think so." Ron scrunched his forehead in thought. "That's strange, isn't it? I'd try to go over it and correct it, but you know I'm hopeless with that stuff. It's almost like those blasted charts we do in—_wait_ a second!" Suddenly he reached across the table, nicked Harry's quill and parchment and started scribbling furiously. He looked freakishly like Hermione at that moment.  Harry stared at this weird incarnation of his best friend. What had just happened? 

Ron's mouth dropped open in astonishment as he stared at what he'd written. "Harry, you're _right_. It's right."

"Look, I _can't_ be right. Halloween was yesterday. I've got to be wrong. Something's wrong with this stupid calculation. I always screw them up." Harry was reaching his breaking point. There were few things he hated more than having to do calculations, and there were few calculations that he hated to do more than those that somehow had bearing on incredibly awful possibilities. God, where _was_ Hermione when you needed her Arithmancy skills? 

"No, Harry," Ron was still objecting. "You've _got_ the right answer."

"Ron. Halloween. Yesterday. Did you just miss that?"

"Right, but—"

"Oh good, there's a but. There's _always_ a 'but,' isn't there?" Harry threw up his hands. He was almost shouting. Madam Pince really glared at him then, but at that moment he could have cared less. "_Dammit_, Ron, why can't this just be straightforward?"

Ron sighed and rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Can I at least explain _before_ you get into all of that "I'm the Boy Who Lived" angst?"

Harry folded his arms and raised an eyebrow expectantly. "All right. Let's hear it."

"Well, see, Halloween was _sort of_ yesterday." Ron chewed on the end of his quill thoughtfully. He immediately made a face. "Bleh. Why can't they make sugar quills that actually write? I'd be in heaven." Harry drummed his fingers on the table.

" 'Sort of.' You need to keep going here, Ron." Harry tried to get his friend back on task. "If I can't take a second to gripe, your soliloquies on food have to wait, too."  

"Okay," Ron turned his swiped piece of parchment so Harry could see, too. "The thing is the Gregorian calendar—that's our calendar, Harry, the one we use—is just a bit off when it comes to calculating an astronomical year. And the astronomical—the solar—to be specific—calendar is what's important for this parchment. I don't know why, but it is—that's what the stuff Hermione read was saying." He ran his fingers through his hair as he talked, and made it stand on end. "That's how come we've got leap years. So it's off just this tiny bit, and what that means is that the calendar runs a few hours fast. In this case we're talking about something that happened in a leap year—so the calendar was 'on' at that point and now we're in the year before a leap year. That means that we're actually missing—erm," and Ron furrowed his brow for a second—"approximately 20 hours, so—"

Harry caught on. "So we add that on to what I've got and then we—Ron. That means tonight. It's going to happen tonight."

"Of _course_ it means tonight. Haven't you figured out that we will automatically get stuck with the least convenient time for incredibly dangerous things to happen?" Ron sighed and closed the book. "I'm going to start calling this 'Harry's Law' . . ."

"Not funny." Harry shot Ron a look. Ron laughed. "Hey, how did you know? About the date change, that is."

"Oh, you owe me for this." Ron grimaced. "_You_ should have known this."

"Why should _I_ have known it?"

"We just studied it in Divination." 

"How do _you_ remember _anything_ from Divination? You haven't actually done work for that class since we've had it . . ."

"You know all those blasted notes Hermione gave me?"

"Yeah."

"I _told_ you I'd read them."

"You didn't."

"I _did_."

Harry snorted.

"Oh, shut _up_. I'm not a complete idiot. Look, let's just get Hermione." The two boys stood up and before Madam Pince could say anything about the state they had left their table in, they were gone. 

They left the library at such a clip that when they ran into Madam Pomfrey as they hurriedly turned a corner, they did so literally. Ron nearly knocked her over, as he had several inches and a couple of stone on the nurse now. 

"Sorry," he hastily apologised and prepared to beat a hasty retreat, but she fixed him with a steely gaze.

"Mr _Weasley_. I'm glad to see that you're completely back to normal. However, I encourage you to be more careful of others, lest they end up in the situation you were in not too long ago." Ron nodded meekly and backed away. A confrontation with Madam Pomfrey was hardly high on anyone's list of priorities, and they were in a bit of a time-crunch. "You need to take care of yourself, young man. I don't want to see _any_ more of you this term." Ron and Harry both nodded earnestly and started back down the hall, but Madam Pomfrey was too quick. She tapped Harry's shoulder and he turned. Ron followed reluctantly. 

"And you two be sure to tell your friend Miss Granger as well that the less I see of her this term, the better. Getting Petrified, turned into a cat, beaten up by the Whomping Willow . . .sick all third year from that Time-Turner nonsense. And then her _teeth_. This year, up all hours of the night, getting _detentions_. I don't understand you students doing _nothing_ but getting yourselves _hurt_. I'm tired of it. And that goes _doubly_ for you, Mr **_Potter_**. I'm not even going to _bother_ listing the amount of things that _you've_ been in for."

She eyed him meaningfully. Harry squirmed a little under her gaze. It wasn't like they _tried_ to end up in the infirmary—it simply happened that they had to spend a good portion of time there, particularly Harry. He quickly jumped in with a question to avoid the, well, sore, subject of his numerous injuries and mishaps. 

"Hermione got _another_ detention? She just had one with Filch—um, that is, _Mr_ Filch." 

"No, dear." Madam Pomfrey looked at him oddly. "She had detention up with me. Wandering about at four in the morning, honestly. Still, I can't say I don't understand why." "Yeah," Ron said. "All that homework would make me need some fresh air, too, rules or not. She's absolutely barking, doing that much." 

"I suppose so." The nurse raised her eyebrows quizzically and continued on down the hall, in the opposite direction from them. They could hear her talking to herself as she walked. "Children these days . . . practically have to draw them a _picture_."

Harry and Ron looked at each other and shook their heads. Sometimes it just wasn't worth it to try and understand what the staff at Hogwarts meant. However, it would probably be best to stay out of Madam Pomfrey's way for a bit. 

They resumed their search for Hermione. A familiar and pretty girl passed them. Ron looked sideways at Harry, but Harry's expression didn't change. They kept walking, while the girl opened the door and went outside. The wind came in after her, whistling along the hallway, ruffling Harry's permanently untidy hair. 

Ron yanked at the entrance to the Great Hall, and the two boys went in. Hopefully Hermione was getting lunch, and if not, they might as well eat something to keep their strength up for that night. 

*          *          *          *

Harry dropped his impossibly full tray onto the table, thanking whatever power might be out there again for making him a wizard so that he could load entirely too much of everything onto his plates without risking a spill, and slid onto the bench. Ron put his equally overstuffed tray down across from him and sat down. Hermione and Ginny were sitting slightly down from them, apparently unaware of their presence. Harry was about to interrupt them to say hello, when he started to overhear their conversation. He kept his mouth shut. 

"Oh, no, you don't have feelings for him. Not at all." Ginny was teasing. "You, Miss Hermione Granger, _Prefect_, top student, simply went out and got detention because of him, and you expect _me_ to believe that you could care less. And that box of sweets . . ." 

"Ginny! Shush! People might _hear_ you!" Hermione looked scandalised and blushed bright red. She was also right. Besides Harry and Ron, Fred Weasley was listening in. He turned around from his position down the table and waggled his eyebrows. 

"Oh? Someone _new_ on the horizon, Hermione? Who is he?" 

Hermione buried her head in her arms. Ginny, for her part, looked properly guilty, but was quick enough to pelt her brother with a dinner roll. 

"Not your business, _Fred_. If we're going to start poking around with gossip, I'd be happy to mention what I heard about you and Angeli—" 

"Right! Of _course_, not my business," Fred said hurriedly, as his gaping twin simultaneously leaped in with

"What? Fred? You told _me_ that—" 

"NEVER **MIND**." And Fred stuffed half of the once-flying roll into George's mouth. George looked irritated but could only emit a stifled "Hrmsnpht!!" to finish whatever eminently interesting sentence he was uttering. Ginny cracked up. Ron did not appear quite as amused.

"Oh. So you got caught sneaking out to meet someone. And that's why you got detention. Huh." His mouth was set in a thin line as he began to eat. Harry groaned to himself. Great. He decided to start having Hedwig bring him his meals in the dormitory. It would be less volatile. Ron went on "Then I just looked like a right idiot in front of _Madam Pomfrey_"—here Ron looked Hermione straight in the eyes— "and all . . .you know, telling her you did it for your schoolwork."

 Hermione closed her eyes. "Stop it."

"I just want to know why you'd deliberately lie to your best friends." 

"I didn't _lie_; I just accidentally said Filch instead of Pomfrey. As if you've never said the wrong thing when you meant something else. I'm sorry you're angry about that." Hermione took a determined bite out of her meal. "Even if I did, it wouldn't have been your damned business anyway why I got it or who I had it with. It wasn't _your_ detention." Ginny's eyes widened. She and Harry exchanged a glance. Hermione never swore. 

Ron turned red.

"Like you have a bloody _right_ to talk to me like that."

"Shut up, Ron." 

After that, lunch went approximately as well as could be imagined. Harry excused himself hurriedly, wistfully leaving his mostly full tray, in favour of a more comfortable environment. He wandered down through the corridors, not feeling like returning to Gryffindor Tower, but not really having motivation to do anything else. 

Why did those two always have to get into it? Harry couldn't understand why they wouldn't leave each other alone, particularly at a time like this. He sighed and opened the main doors, letting himself out into the nasty weather. He figured that now was as good a time as any for what he was going to do, particularly since he doubted that his mood could be ruined if it didn't go well. And then he'd catch Hermione after she and Ron had finished the out-and-out fighting or their meals, whichever took longer, and he could fill her in on what was going on.

*          *          *          *

Harry didn't exactly know why he was taking Hermione's advice. He supposed it was because he didn't have any other ideas or things to do, and that was why he was outside on an abnormally cold November day, looking for Cho Chang and hoping that she was alone. He tried to force his thoughts away from whatever was going to happen tonight. He had to focus—he didn't even know what the hell he was going to say to Cho. As he tried to puzzle something out in his mind, he saw her. 

She was sitting on a rock by the edge of the lake, staring out at the water.

Harry's mouth was dry, but he swallowed and went on. It wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. 

"Hi, Cho." She turned at the unexpected sound.

"Harry? Hello." She didn't sound overly friendly, but she didn't sound hostile either. He sat down on a nearby rock and kept on.

"Pondering secret Seeker ploys there?" 

Her eyes were veiled, but she replied lightly. "Possibly. What are you doing, spying on me?"

"Well, you know us Gryffindors. We're known for our cunning and ruthless ambition."

Cho smiled. "Really. The Sorting Hat's a bit confused, then, eh?"

"It _is_ over 1000 years old. I hear magical artefacts don't show age well."

"Or so Professor Binns would say." 

"Not that age has done much to improve _him_." It wasn't the wittiest thing he'd ever said, but she laughed anyway.

"Really, what are you doing out here, Harry? Most people aren't spending such a miserable afternoon hiding out by the lake alone." 

He thought that he could say the same to her, but he thought he knew why she was there. Harry had a feeling Cho knew why he was there, too. Still, he hesitated. How could he say he'd been looking for her? Glibly, he said the first thing that came into his mind.

"Divination homework—have to write an essay about the effects of scrying in pools of water rather than crystal balls. Figured nobody would be at the lake right now, so I'd get it over with."

"That class is a load of rubbish." She snorted. "Last year, Trelawney told me that I would be blessed with an incredibly fortunate term and it would end in some joyous victory for something or other. After—well, after the Tournament, it made me wish that I hadn't bit my tongue every time I wanted to say something nasty in her class." 

Harry's heart went out to her and he found that his stomach wasn't lurching the way it usually did. Something was changing, giving way. "She's a loon."

Cho smiled "Personally, I make most of my homework up."

"That's not very Ravenclaw of you."

"Didn't you just say that the Sorting Hat was getting a bit doddery in its old age?" He grinned in reply. She shook her head and smiled again. They were quiet then. The pause in the conversation was awkward. Cho broke it first.

Her voice changed. "Harry—"

He looked up from the lake and faced her, bracing himself for the inevitable question.

"If—if I asked you about Cedric and what really happened, would you be angry with me?" 

(It's still a Hogwarts victory)

He looked away again. 

"No." It was true. "But I wouldn't tell you."

"I thought as much." Cho clenched her hands in her lap. "I suppose I wouldn't either if I were you." She paused before she went on. "He liked you, you know. Really thought you got a raw deal out of the whole Tournament mess."

"Yeah." They were silent again. Harry stood up. "Look, I think I'm going to give up on trying to do Divination. It's too cold out, and I'm not freezing myself for that class. D'you want company to walk back to the castle?" 

"All right." She got up too. " And if you ever need help making something up for that fraud, feel free to ask me. I've come up with more strange fake predictions than I need for my assignments." 

"Thanks. I think I'm all right for now, but thanks." He grinned warmly at her. "Would you mind if I send my friend Ron Weasley your way, though? His inventions are getting entirely out of hand."

She smiled again. "Sure. Anything to keep people from doing work for that fraud."

They walked back, frosted grass crunching under their feet. It wasn't entirely comfortable to walk with her, but it wasn't awful. 

He supposed new friendships were always a bit odd at first. 

*          *          *          *

Harry held the door for Cho as they went back into the castle. She squeezed his arm. 

"Thanks, Harry." He nodded.

"Any time."

She went up the main stairs just as Ron and Hermione came in, probably from lunch. They were still yelling at each other, but Harry couldn't even make out the words. Each had apparently had started to try and scream over the other rather than wait for the other one to take a breath. 

He sighed. Some things he was just not equipped to deal with. He pulled his wand out of his pocket and aimed it at the ceiling. He'd seen this trick before in a Muggle Western film. 

**"_IGNIS!"_**

With a loud bang, sparks erupted out of his wand and bounced off the ceiling, raining down over the three of them. Hermione and Ron stood there, mouths open, but silent. Harry took his chance. 

"All right. Look. No more. Okay?" He looked at Hermione. "Remember the paper—the date? It's tonight." She looked at him incredulously. "It _is_. Ron and I—we figured it out. So we don't have time for this. At least I don't." He looked from one to the other. "If you two want to bicker instead of do this, _fine_, but I'm not waiting around. So if you're still going to do this and I _know_ neither of you will let me do this alone, then call a truce. Or don't go, because you know we can't afford the fighting." He paused expectantly. "Do we have a deal? Truce?"

Ron shrugged irritably. Well, at least it wasn't a flat "no." It'd do for now. Harry turned to his other best friend. "Hermione?"

There was a reluctant expression on her face and instead of answering, she asked him "How do you _know_ it's tonight?"

"Well, Ron and I were in the library this morning before lunch," Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Harry continued quickly. "Erm, _between_ classes, of course. But that's not the _point_. The point is that we realised that in order to calculate the date we had to use what you'd given us and then—look, it's easier if you just read this—I can't explain it well."

He pulled the paper out of his pocket, where he'd unceremoniously stuffed it and held it out to her. She took it, examining it closely. She gasped. "Oh! That's so clever! _Harry_, that's really great—your calculation's _perfect_." She grinned. "You really are doing well. And then this part at the end, that's absolutely _brilliant_!" 

"Actually, um, _Ron_ figured the last bit of it out. It was something about calculating in the leap year and the calendar being off." Harry really hoped that this wasn't going to set off another row. Time was getting short . . . and if he had to, he would leave them. He honestly didn't want to do that.

Hermione looked sideways at Ron. His ears were pink and he muttered "Look, it wasn't _anything_, all right. It was just in those stupid notes and—"

"You _read_ the notes?"

Ron didn't say anything. He crossed his arms and looked defiantly elsewhere. 

Hermione let out a long breath and that unreadable expression crossed her face. "All right, Harry. Truce. Let's go." 

Ron nodded silently, still not looking at Hermione. 

She turned to Harry. "You should bring the Invisibility Cloak, Harry. We'll be in trouble if we're caught out this late." 

"Oh, you just don't want another _detention_." Ron said bitterly.

"So?" Hermione eyed Ron balefully. "Anyway it's practical—what if it's something dangerous again out there, right Harry?"

"You know what?" Harry said. "_I'm_ just going to get the cloak. My role is strictly to own the cloak and bring it along." He looked from one to the other. "I'm not getting in the middle of this. Because there's nothing to get in the middle of right now, remember?"

 He went upstairs and into his room. His Invisibility Cloak was folded in the very bottom of his bureau, under his socks and boxers where hopefully no one would look. He pulled out the silky material and tucked it under his arm. When he came down the stairs, he noticed that although Ron and Hermione were standing in a furious silence, they also hadn't started fighting in his absence.

The three of them climbed under the cloak and set off. Harry thought that it had gone rather well, considering.  


	6. No Man Than This . . .

*          *          *          *

**Chapter 6: No Man Than This . . . **

*          *          *          *

The grounds were dark as they crept across towards the Forbidden Forest, and headed for the clearing.

Gingerly, they pushed back the thorny branches that surrounded the area and went into the glade.  Harry took off the Invisibility Cloak and the three of them looked around for moment, before Harry made his way over to the yew, examining the hollows, trying to locate the most probable one for the scroll to be inside. Most were fine fissures that he couldn't even wedge a finger in. He hoped that they wouldn't have to harm the old tree in any way to get at the paper. He pressed on the bark, looking for a soft spot, and in the centre of the tree, a hollow gave way. The smallest fissure tore all the way open with a resounding crack.

The split in the trunk was narrow. Neither Harry nor Ron could fit their hands in it. 

Hermione sighed. "Let me." She stepped forward.  The boys got out of her way and Harry started s

"Harry," Hermione had slipped her hand into the tree's hollow and was feeling around, "it's not in there. There doesn't seem to be _anything _in there."

"What?" Harry was startled. "But I swear that's the tree. Is it in another hole?" 

"Maybe a squirrel moved it." Ron suggested doubtfully. He sat down morosely on the remains of an alder trunk. "Got any ideas, Harry?" Harry shook his head.

"Well, it's here somewhere, right?" Hermione said briskly. "Let's keep looking." She continued feeling around in the heart of the tree.

Suddenly the rotted trunk that Ron was sitting on shattered under his weight and he was unceremoniously tossed to the ground. He scrambled to his feet. Harry was about to ask his best friend if he was okay, when Hermione yelped. He turned and saw that she had loosened something from the hollow, and a scroll was protruding from a crack in the bark.

"Doesn't _anyone_ care if I'm all right?" Ron complained, rubbing his hip. Hermione pointed at the tree. His mouth dropped open too. "Is that it?"

"I hope so," Harry said. 

Hermione tugged until it came loose from the rotten wood. "Weird," she said, holding it for a moment before handing it to Harry. He knew what she meant—the parchment felt almost alive in his hand. He could have stood there marvelling at it for quite a while, but he knew they had to get out of there. Quickly, he shoved the scroll into his pocket.

Ron was jubilant. "Let's go, then. We'll get the parchment to Dumbledore and we'll be set. Easier than we thought, eh?"

Behind them came another loud cracking noise, then scuffling sounds. 

"Someone's here," Hermione said, pointing out the obvious.

Harry caught a glimpse of a masked figure behind a tree. Ron followed his gaze.

"Great," Ron moaned. "They can do Arithmancy, too." Harry pulled out the Invisibility Cloak again and the three of them crept quietly under it and ducked into the thorn bushes closest to the field. All they had to do was find a relatively unobstructed way out and they'd be fine—some path where they'd make as little noise as possible.

"Death-Eaters? Again?" Hermione's eyes were round.

"Well, of _course_ it's Death-Eaters." Ron muttered. "It's all part of Harry's Law, didn't you know?" Harry rolled his eyes. Yeah, now was an excellent time to be funny. 

" 'Harry's' _what_?" Hermione asked.

"Law. It's the phenomenon that explains why _everything_ we do is incredibly complicated and dangerous." Ron put on his best, albeit very quiet, McGonagall impression. "I am shocked that _you_, Miss Granger, would be unaware of such a thing. Perhaps you had better start _reading_ more."

Hermione ignored him.

"Let's just get out of here," she said. "You've got the paper, haven't you, Harry?"

"Of course I've got it," he snapped, as quietly as he could. Still, to be sure, he reached into his pocket and felt for the scroll. But it wasn't in his pocket. He quickly patted himself down and looked quickly at the ground around him. It was gone. "Oh no," he breathed.

" 'Oh no' _what_?" Ron asked tightly.

"I don't have it. It's not here."

"You _dropped_ it?" Hermione suddenly grabbed his arm very, very tightly.

"I didn't _drop_ it."

"Then what happened, mate?" Ron didn't sound very happy about the situation.

The Death-Eaters were speaking now. Harry hoped that they couldn't hear the three of them behind the bushes.

"Well, it wasn't like I was holding onto it, exactly. It was in my pocket . . . " Harry stopped. The pocket that he'd torn the last time they'd been here. "There was a hole . . ." _How_ could he have forgotten about the hole?

"Bloody hell." Ron said venomously. They were interrupted by an all-too-familiar voice. 

"No, the magic itself is gone from here. _Someone_ has taken it."

"Uh oh," Hermione said, almost inaudibly. She sniffled quietly.

_Is she crying?_ Harry wondered. '_Uh oh' is right, though. . . _

Suddenly, the figure grabbed one of the other masked wizards by the throat. "You said that _Potter_ was here the last time you went looking. And you _let_ him escape. _Look_ what you've done." 

"_Much_ larger 'uh oh,' " Ron muttered. 

Hermione sneezed. The clearing went silent.

"**_Potter_**!" snarled Voldemort.

"I don't think 'uh oh' quite covers it this time." Harry said. "Find that paper and _RUN_."

 They tried to cut through the prickly thorns as quickly as they could, but there was no way to stop the bushes from rustling behind them, even under the Invisibility Cloak.

_What's the use of being invisible if you can still give yourself away?_

"Why he always thinks it's me, I don't know." Harry said under his breath. 

"Because it _is_ always you," Ron hissed. "HARRY'S LAW. Do you _ever_ listen to me?"

Harry would have smacked him, but there wasn't exactly time. The air was already crackling with hexes. "Keep your heads down. They know we're out here somewhere. They'll just try to cover as much ground with their curses as they can." He was only half-listening to his own words as he searched the area for the parchment. If only it glittered like the Snitch. _But_, and he gritted his teeth, _it doesn't_.  

A bright flash suddenly lit Harry's view. For a split-second the ground was illuminated and he saw it. The paper. But before he could react and grab for it, there was a sharp cry 

"_Harry_!"

and Harry felt someone shove him. He lost his balance and fell to the ground. The jolt broke his concentration on the paper. _Where_ had it gone? Then it appeared again, right on the ground in front of him. He reached his hand out and caught the paper. Harry crumpled it in his fist, shoving it deep into his _other_ pocket. _Get back_, his instincts were screaming. _Move_! He spotted a ruined house across the field. The wall promised only a temporary shield, but it would do for now. He had hold of Hermione's hand, dragging her along through the last of the thorns with him, along across the field and hopefully towards safety. He could hear her panting behind him, but the cloak seemed slacker than before. There was more room in it. Something was different.

Harry glanced around him. He saw a form behind them, half in the thorns, half in the open field.

  Ron. Blood ran out of a gash on his temple. He was very pale. _Oh God, not again_. Harry heard Hermione whisper.

 "Oh, _Ron_ . . . _Why_ does he always _do_ that?" 

The Death-Eaters began to close in around Ron's figure. The brush around him disappeared in a haze of bright light—scorched away. There wasn't a lot of time.  Harry made a quick decision. 

"Look, Hermione. I'll make a diversion. You sneak out under the cloak and grab Ron. Cover him and bring him back to that wall. Wait for me there. I'll just buy us some time to get him back."

"Harry! What are you going to do? What kind of diversion? They can _see_ you without the cloak. _You're_ what they want anyway. They're not as interested in either Ron or me. You'll just give them exactly what they want." 

"Don't worry about me. Just go take care of Ron." 

 "But you can't! They'll _kill_ you! Harry!" Hermione was clutching his sleeve. She sounded almost hysterical. "I'm sure there's another way . . .it's suicide. Harry, please don't do it." He turned to shush her. 

"Don't you _want_ to get Ron back?" he whispered furiously. He was so angry--he wanted to shake her. "I thought you were his friend, too. Get _over_ this fight, Hermione. I'm going to at least tr—." Something hit him in the head. Harry was dazed and shooting stars seemed to cover his vision.

"I'm _so_ sorry, Harry. In a second you won't feel it. It wears off." Hermione was suddenly very serious. "You're not going out there. Promise me, Harry, that you'll both get out of this. _Promise_." She let go of his arm. 

"Her-Hermione!"

But before Harry could stop her, she had rolled out from under the cloak and scrambled to her feet. He heard the crunch of twigs breaking under her feet as she ran towards the cloaked wizards, yelling as loudly as she possibly could

 "Come on, you bastards! Wouldn't you rather take a Mudblood?! Or don't _you_ think you can defeat someone _Muggle_-born?" 

Harry froze. Instantly the Death-Eaters' attention shifted from Ron to the figure threatening them. That was his chance. Harry ran towards Ron. He had almost reached him when he heard that familiar voice hissing.

"Little Mudblooded girl." And then the tenor of the voice changed. It became silky smooth, placating.

"Where's the boy, girl? Tell me."

There was no answer.

"Tell me and I might spare you. After all, there is always room for a Mudblood slave in our world. A life like that's better than death, little girl." The last sentence was hissed out.

"I don't know to whom you are referring." Hermione sounded like she had a thousand times in the library, haughty and acerbic. 

"Really." There was mirthless laughter. "Tell me where Potter is."    

Then a horrible word,

"_Crucio!_"    

Hermione's scream pierced Harry's ears. She doubled over and fell to her knees. 

Ron was still visible. Harry threw the cloak over him and he vanished. He grabbed Ron under the arms and started back. The stone wall was about 50 metres away. He had to get Ron there before . . . He wasn't going to think about it. 

Hermione was still on her knees, no longer screaming. She was biting her lip so hard that blood began to trickle out of the corner of her mouth. But the Death Eaters no longer seemed interested in her. As they turned back to where Ron had been lying, Harry dragged Ron away from them towards safety. It was too far. They would never make it before they noticed. . . _dammit_, if only he could Apparate. He looked back.

"Go!" whispered Hermione hoarsely to nowhere. "just go. The two of you—go." She was looking around, trying to find a sign that they were safe. Harry stared at her, still pulling Ron. She stumbled to her feet, wand clenched in her hand. 

"HARRY! _GO_, GET OUT OF HERE! NOW!" Her wand lashed out.**_ "Detonius!"_**

The ground in front of the masked wizards exploded. Several of them fell over, stunned or hurt, Harry couldn't tell. Their attention returned to the girl in front of them.

"You won't get away with this," she cried out, staggering. Her grip on her wand was even tighter, and her knuckles went white. "Harry will never let you . . ." She gasped and continued. "You're all nothing but a bunch of pathetic idiots terrified that—that you're going to lose. **I'm** not scared, d'you hear **that**, Death-Eaters? A _Mudblood_ who doesn't give a rat's **arse** about you!" Harry stopped. His hand touched the cobbled wall and he nearly threw Ron behind it as he turned to help Hermione. It was too late.

"I'm not scared of y—"

"_Avada_—"   

Hermione's back was to him. Her voice was quiet, almost calm, but for Harry it cut through the din of angry Death-Eaters. 

"Oh God—"

"—**_Kedavra_**!"  

Air rushed past Harry and he shut his eyes against the flash of green light. When he looked up again, Hermione Granger, the cleverest witch of her age, was crumpled on the field.  

Harry was shaking. _Hermione_. So much was running through his mind that he didn't know what to do. _I can't_, he thought, _I . . .I can't_. _But you have to_, a small voice said. _You can't stop now_. _But I don't know how to drive them off and I can't leave her there. We can't **wait** them out, not with Ron like he is. How . . .?_ He leaned against the stone wall, staring at Ron's unconscious form, the redhead's hand trailing in the hearth of the crumbling building. There was nowhere to go. They were trapped. _I'm sorry, Hermione_, Harry thought. _It looks like I'm going to break that promise.  _Harry looked sadly at Ron. 

Then he shook his head and looked again. Ron's hand. In the hearth. 

_(So light a fire.)_

_(Yes—of course—but there's no WOOD.)_

_(Have you gone MAD? Are you a witch or not?)_

_Oh, just let this be the right one . . . _Harry reached into his torn robe pocket. It was.  How it managed to stay there when the scroll had fallen out, Harry didn't know. The tiny packet of Floo Powder that the Weasley twins had given him was beaten and dog-eared, but intact. Harry gritted his teeth, (_Let it still be in the Floo Network—let someone have fallen down on their job, please, let this work),_ took a deep breath and ran back out from behind the wall. Without Ron's weight, he could sprint. He swept the cloak over Hermione's body and fled. She was much lighter than Ron, and he could get up to a slow jog with her in his arms. He didn't care if parts of him were visible—he just hoped they wouldn't have time to react. The muttering of the Death-Eaters grew into a furious rumble and he heard the voice start a curse. It was too late. Harry skidded around the wall, pointed his wand at the fireplace and cried

"_Incendius_!" Flames leaped to life.  

Harry threw some powder in, yelled the first place he could think of, grabbed one of Ron's hands and one of Hermione's, pulled them in with him and before the wall crumbled under the curses of the Death-Eaters, they were gone. 

They landed with a thump. Soot dusted down over them. Harry stared at the thatched ceiling. He lay there a minute, glad that half-giants had large fireplaces, still gripping his friends' hands. He let go and got up, slowly. Ron was beginning to stir. Ron put his hand to his head. He stood, shakily.

"Bloody _hell_. What was that? How did we get to Hagrid's? Where are those blasted Death Eaters?" But Harry didn't hear him. He was kneeling next to Hermione. He put his hand under her neck and lifted her head up. 

 "That must have been some Stun Charm. Lucky, that's what we were. I swear Harry, sometimes we cut it a bit close." 

_(We could have been killed—or worse, **expelled**_.)

Harry stared down at Hermione. He remembered Cedric's face, surprised grey eyes and half-open mouth, as though the older boy was trying to speak and had been interrupted. Hermione's eyes were closed, as was her mouth, bruised and bloody where she'd bitten her lip, but the same vacant expression remained. Something from Muggle school came back to him and he put his fingers along her neck, under her jaw. He felt nothing through the cool skin. His throat tightened. 

_(Mumma?)_

"Pomfrey is going to have hysterics when we go up there again." Ron was looking out Hagrid's window. There was no sign of the burly groundskeeper. "And Hermione, when she wakes up and realizes she's missed another night of _studying_ from being Stunned, well, I don't know if I want to be the one to tell her. Not that we're on speaking terms anyway. I nominate you. You're a Seeker, you can get away quickly enough."

"Ron." Harry's voice was thick.       

"And I'm damned if _I'm_ carrying that know-it-all back across the grounds. I don't know _Mobilicorpus_ well enough to get it to work, so we'll just have to Enervate her. Make her go on her own power."

"Ron." It hurt to force the words out. "She's not Stunned." 

The redhead continued speaking as if Harry wasn't making any sense whatsoever. 

"Well, she's not _Petrified_, is she? I mean, what _else_ could it be?" There was no pause for an answer. Ron's voice began to rise in pitch. "Right, then. Let's go. After all, we don't have all night. We need to get that paper to Dumbledore. Harry, you've got it this time, righ—"

"_Ron_." Ron turned. He met Harry's eyes. "Ron, it—"

Harry didn't need to go on, because Ron wasn't listening. Instead, he was looking at Hermione, watching Harry's hand pull away from the hollow under her jaw. 

"Right, then." Ron said softly. He knelt down and picked her up, one arm under her knees, the other cradling her neck. Hermione seemed very small in the taller boy's arms and her head lolled against his shoulder. "Let's go. Got to get that paper to Dumbledore."

_(Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it.)_

They walked back to the castle in silence.


	7. Every Language Is Silent

*          *          *          *

**Chapter 7: Every Language Is Silent**.

*          *          *          *

Harry opened the great doors of the entranceway, holding them for Ron. The stone floors echoed with their footsteps. Harry thought it was almost sacrilegious that the floor would dare make noise right now. Couldn't it see what Ron was carrying?  

"Come _on_, Sara! I haven't got all evening. If we're going to g—" Harry turned his head to see who was calling up the stairs. Ginny Weasley stared oddly at them from a few steps up. "Harry? What's going on? What are you doing? Ron?" She looked again at the three of them, still regarding them strangely as she came down the steps. "Hermione? Are you all right?"

Harry just looked back at her bleakly. Ron didn't even seem to notice that his sister was there.   

She said again, "Harry. What's happening? Are you all okay? Why aren't you answering me?" She stepped up to her brother and touched Hermione's shoulder. "Hermione?"  Swiftly, she looked from Harry to Ron to Hermione again, and clapped her hand over her mouth.

Harry tried to say something, anything—but no words seem to come out, just a kind of strangled sigh. The tears in his eyes threatened even more to spill over. Ginny peered at him, looking as if she was deciphering what he hadn't said. 

"_Hermione_!" She began to sob. Her cry brought others from corridors, from the common rooms, from the library, and as Harry and Ron tried to push their way through towards the infirmary, the hall filled with people trying to figure out what was happening. Someone shouted.

"Call McGonagall!"

Other voices chimed in.

"The infirmary!" 

"What's going on?" 

"It's Granger."

"Oh my God!"

"Who is that?"

"Hermione!"

"Get Dumbledore!"

Harry knew that none of them could help, not even the infirmary could now, but he and Ron kept going anyway. The other students pulled away as they came through, their murmurings falling into gasps and then to nothing as they saw what was in Ron's arms. Professor McGonagall, white-faced, running, brought a floating stretcher. But when she tried to help Ron place Hermione on it, he gave her a look so harsh even she stepped back. Fred and George tried to step in, but Ron turned away from them. He set Hermione down on the stretcher. He stood, glaring at the crowd around him and Harry. 

"It's all right, then, isn't it?" he said. "Pomfrey will take care of her. Don't you have things to do?" 

Parvati Patil had hold of Lavender Brown. They were round-eyed. __

"She's not . . .Harry, she's not dead?" Parvati could barely get the words out.

Harry swallowed hard. Evidently this was enough, because the girls both gasped and Lavender hid her face in Parvati's sleeve.

"What a _shame_ she couldn't learn her place before this." A voice echoed down the stairs. Draco Malfoy looked down at them. 

_(CRACK!)_

_(Don't you **ever** call Hagrid pathetic, you foul—you evil . . .)_

If Harry hadn't suddenly had to hold Ron's arms, he would have tried to kill Malfoy himself. And even though he had Ron's arms pinned, it took the twins, Neville and Dean to keep him back.  

*          *          *          *

Harry wondered to himself why it was that he never got to see the headmaster for happy occasions. He almost laughed at the thought—something awful happens; go see Dumbledore—as if the great and kindly wizard was setting himself up to be some sort of reflexive damper on the spirits of the students. Harry knew that wasn't true, but it did seem appropriate. He thought that his mind was becoming incredibly clear for what it had been through. 

Everything was just kind of in place, clinical and cut off. The events unrolled themselves in his memory over and over, until they were almost film-like. Harry felt a bit like a movie critic: as though he should be giving a commentary on the cinematic value of each line spoken and each scene. He doubted that he'd give himself any acting points. No. It was too earnest a performance—no sense of actor's irony behind it.

Except it wasn't a movie, he reminded himself; it was real. All of it. It didn't feel real, though, not even when he started retelling the story in the Headmaster's office, Ron sitting next to him. Things like this didn't just happen—there was always the close scrape and then the three of them—all three of them—would come out of it, somehow, okay. Things happened to _him_, sure, but he'd always managed to pull through it—even when he'd have traded places. Ron and Hermione, though, they were different—they were supposed to always be a thread away from real trouble and it would be _his_ fault that they'd be in trouble but it would work out because it wasn't like Ron and Hermione were him and had Voldemort out for them ever since they were babies. Well, Hermione was Muggle-born, but still, neither of them was supposed to have this happen. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. It wasn't. _He_ was supposed to be in the line of fire. 

It was supposed to be him who took it the worst, and he didn't mind that so much. He minded it much worse when it wasn't him. 

_(Mumma?)_

And so this couldn't be real, because _he_ was supposed to be the one lying in the infirmary on a stretcher, dead. 

(Kill the spare. . .)

It was a paradox—Harry felt as if he was waiting for reality to fall apart around him, because that was really the only logical progression of events. The universe had to end right now, or else it would just stop making sense, because if this was real then life really was even more miserably unfair than he already thought. 

It didn't start to seem real until he approached telling Dumbledore the actual moment when Hermione—

He broke off suddenly from the automated speech he was giving, and glanced over at Ron. His friend was staring at Dumbledore's desk. He hadn't spoken since the hallway. When Harry looked back, Dumbledore was looking at him, sympathetically and patiently. Harry closed his eyes for a second. It was starting to feel real now, and all-too-familiar.

_Tell him what happened. Somehow he will make this all come out all right. Somehow this is all going to be all right. Just tell him._

 He opened his eyes, keeping his gaze locked on Professor Dumbledore's eyes, and went on. 

"Ron—he pushed me out of the way and was caught by one of the blasts in the crossfire. It tore the cloak" Harry held up the silky material and showed the professor the burn mark. "Hermione and I were still under the cloak and managed to get behind a broken wall. We could see he was knocked out and probably hurt. We didn't know what to do. We couldn't leave him—we had to go back. But if we'd just grabbed him and covered him with the cloak, they'd have noticed immediately. They'd have killed all of us. We had to somehow make a diversion. I told Hermione to wait with the cloak until the Death-Eaters weren't looking and then to get Ron back behind the wall. But—" Harry faltered and went on. He felt Ron staring at him. Harry couldn't meet his eyes. He kept looking at Dumbledore. "but, she jumped out first and confronted them and she kept them occupied long enough for me to get Ron behind the wall. Sir. . ." 

Harry felt like his throat was closing again. Part of his mind was now telling him over and over: it's real. It's real. He was actually telling someone this. It wasn't a dream. Cedric hadn't been a dream. This wasn't a dream either. The other part was still watching the sequence of events in a sort of detached shock. 

But somehow, the headmaster's kindly face seemed to give Harry the strength to keep going. He took a deep breath and finished the story. Tears ran down his face. "I went back for her, sir. I used the fireplace in the wall and Floo Powder and we landed in Hagrid's hut."

            There was a long silence. Harry couldn't look anywhere without the room blurring. Dumbledore took off his glasses and put them back on before he spoke.

"Such a gifted and brave young woman. There are no Death-Eaters, 'pure-blooded' they may be, who could hold a candle to her."  Harry finally stole another look over at his friend. Ron looked around dully. Slowly, he stood up, nodded at Dumbledore and Harry, and walked out of the room. Harry half-stood, to go after him, but the headmaster stopped him.

"Let him go, Harry." 

Harry sat down. He felt drained, and horribly tired. Dumbledore was still looking at him.

"We got the paper, sir. Whatever they were discussing, we got it. I don't even know really what it is but we have it." He handed the crumpled, ancient parchment to Dumbledore. It suddenly felt hateful to him. "I hope," he said venomously. "I hope it's worth what it cost."  His voice rose and he was practically shouting. He stood up from his chair as he spoke. "It was _suicide_, Professor. She knew it. I didn't stop her in time. She walked right out and there was nothing I could do. I would have done _anything_. I should have stopped her. It was my fault."

Dumbledore peered at him. "Did _you_ attack Hermione? Were you the one who tortured her?"

"No, but—"

"Do not forget, Harry, who is ultimately responsible for this. Voldemort is the one who did this to your friend, as he has done to countless others. Would you have instead given yourself and the parchment up to him as he wanted?"

"No—I'd never stop. He'd have to kill me first."

"Then Miss Granger did exactly what you would do."

"It's a stupid piece of _paper_, Professor. She did it for a stupid, crumbly old piece of paper that I don't even really understand what it does or why it's important." He sat down, angry and exhausted.

The headmaster merely looked at him, a serious expression on his face. "Harry. Do you give your friend so little credit that you think she would do all of that for only, as you said, 'a stupid, crumbly old piece of paper?' "

And a vision of Hermione appeared in Harry's mind. That funny expression was on her face, the one that he never understood and couldn't read.

_(You **read** the notes?)_

Harry barely heard the headmaster's next words.  "Perhaps, Harry, if you are able, you might give me a moment now. I must owl Miss Granger's parents to apprise them of her situation." Dumbledore sighed. It was a long, sad sound, resigned. "These are the kind of messages that I, as I'm sure you understand, do not like to write. But we do what we must do. Something else"—and the corner of his mouth turned up—"that I'm sure you also understand, Harry." He reached into a drawer, pulled out a quill, and smoothed the piece of parchment on his desk.

Harry nodded. He rose from his chair and left the headmaster's office. He didn't feel as if there anything left in him. Even if he _had_ wanted to stay, he doubted it would matter much at this moment.

*          *          *          *

The common room was almost deserted, with the exception of Ron, who was sitting at a table. Most people must still have been down in the castle entranceway, talking or just standing around. Harry didn't particularly want to go back down and see any of them right now. He walked over to Ron and was about to say something but thought better of it.  There really wasn't anything to say. 

Harry simply sat down across from the redhead and waited. He didn't know what he was waiting for, but he waited anyway, as though if he waited long enough the whole thing would sort itself out and everything would be all right again, or as close to all right as anything was in his world. 

Ron was idly tracing his finger over a carving in the tabletop. It read "This Seat Reserved For Know-It-Alls Only." Ron had burned it in with his wand and put an Anti-Filler Charm on it. Hermione hadn't spoken to him for three days afterwards. Harry himself had been in trouble for thinking it was funny, despite his objections that he had had absolutely nothing to do with any of it. 

"When she wakes up, Harry, I'm going to tell her that she can give that bloke all the sweets she wants." He looked sadly at the table. "I don't mind at all. She can give him all the sugar quills in the world when she wakes up. I mean, if she _wants_ to. She might not want to. But remind me to tell her I don't mind."

"I will," Harry said. He didn't know what else to say, and even if there had been some other reply he could have given, he was too tired and too stunned to think of it. Somehow not even the common room looked the same as it had a few hours ago. It was the same room, he knew that, but it felt off in some fundamental detail that he couldn't put his finger on. 

Ron suddenly started. 

"Someone's _got_ to feed _Crookshanks_." He walked out of the common room and up into—Harry couldn't help but feel shocked—the girls' dormitory. Ron nearly ran over his sister as she came running down the steps. Ginny was a sight. Her hair was wild and she was looking around nervously—but her eyes were shining brightly. 

"HARRY!" She whispered loudly, though there were no other people in the room. "Harry, come here, quick!" She appeared to have something concealed in her hands. Harry went over to her. She pulled him into a corner of the room and leaned close. He was a little embarrassed by how close, but she didn't seem to notice. She opened her hands. "Harry, look." Ginny held the object out for him to see. The tiny hourglass sparkled in her hand. "It's a Time Turner." 

"Where did you get that?" Harry was astounded. "Hermione turned hers in two years ago."

_(Professor McGonagall made me swear I wouldn't tell anyone . . . that I'd never, ever use it for anything except my studies.)_

"McGonagall's desk." Ginny smiled almost mischievously. "While you and Ron were in with Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall was taking Hermione's b—_Hermione _to the infirmary, I snuck into her office and looked to see if she had one. She did."

"But how did you get in? And how did you know that there ever _were_ Time Turners at Hogwarts? Hermione didn't tell anyone about hers when she had it." 

"Professor McGonagall didn't even shut her door when she heard the commotion. I suppose she must have forgotten to charm the desk locked when she left. And I knew about the Time Turner because my brother couldn't keep his mouth shut about how he couldn't believe he'd never figured out how Hermione was taking all of those classes. Even though he never did explain exactly how she did it, I figured it out. Unlike him, I actually read my assignments." She looked grimly pleased with herself. "I was hoping that Professor McGonagall kept it in one of her drawers. I was right, wasn't I?" 

"But—Ginny—I mean—what are you—well, I can guess, but what if—" Within the confusion of thoughts that he was trying to express to the determined girl in front of him, something started niggling at the back of Harry's mind. Something he had heard. Or rather, something he had _not_ heard. He trailed off, attempting to pin it down, and he stared into space, brow furrowed.

Suddenly he grabbed Ginny's hand. 

"Ginny! She _didn't_ die!" Ginny stepped back, stunned. Harry tried to collect himself. "I mean—I mean, at least not yet. Maybe she did, but maybe not—Dumbledore—I was in his office and I was blaming myself and he asked me if I was the one who _tortured_ her. He never said 'the one who _killed_ her.' I mean—maybe it's nothing—just a slip of the tongue. But it's a shot and it might mean he knows something we don't about what happened. Or maybe—" He stopped. For a second the image of Professor Dumbledore smoothing a piece of parchment flashed into his mind. No, that _couldn't_ be right. He must be remembering wrong. "Are you _sure_ no one saw you get the Time-Turner?"

"I don't think so. I was careful. I'm _not_ an idiot." She sighed impatiently. "Come on, Harry. I'm going to do this, with or without you."

"Well—" Harry hesitated. "It can't hurt anything at this point to try." 

But although he didn't say anything to Ginny, he doubted whether Minerva McGonagall would ever in her life _accidentally_ forget to lock her desk. However, now there were more immediate things to worry about. He said

"If **I **go, though, you're not coming. It's too dangerous." She glared at him.

"_I_ got the blasted Time Turner, _I_ broke the rules and stole it, _I'm_ the one who'll be expelled if we're ever caught, and _I'm_ going with you, Harry James _Potter_, whether you like it or not." __

"Well, even if I did agree, Ron won't let you." Harry looked triumphant. Ron would never let Ginny put herself at that kind of risk.

"So you think my brother's going with us?" Ginny pointed at Ron, sitting in a chair across the room. He must have returned while they were arguing. Crookshanks was on his lap, and Ron was petting him absently. "Have you _looked_ at him? He's _completely_ out of it! You'd get more help if you brought _Neville_ or even _Malfoy_!"  

Watching the blank expression on Ron's face, and his utter oblivion to what was going on around him, Harry had to admit she was right. He could hear Ron across the room.

"Poor kitty. D'you want to come stay with me—for—for a little while?" __

Crookshanks curled up even tighter, his chin on his paws, appearing to sink into Ron's lap. Harry could swear Crookshanks was looking at directly at him, his squashed face intent on Harry's. 

_(Ron, I'm really, really sorry about Scabbers.)_

The cat's eyes seemed more piercing than ever.

"Fine, Ginny. You can go."


	8. A Tiny Change Today . . .

*          *          *          *

**Chapter 8: A Tiny Change Today . . .**

*          *          *          *

They were standing along the edge of the Forest, several metres back from the scorched blackthorn bushes. Harry was holding the Invisibility Cloak, while Ginny looked over at the torn earth where it had happened. 

It was still bitterly cold.

"All right—so we need about—" Harry looked at his watch. "Four hours. It happened a little over three hours ago now—we take the extra bit so we have leeway. Then we can get set up, go through with it and get out of there, hopefully without really screwing everything up in the process."

Ginny nodded. "Four spins. We go back—we'll be in the same place we are now—I cast a Locking Spell on the Turner, so it won't move us back to where we were four hours ago." She looped the chain around both of their necks, steadying the tiny hourglass to keep it from sending them back just yet. 

"So we get back—we get under the cloak— and remember to keep the burned part clenched tight, or it won't cover anything. We sneak around back behind where the Death-Eaters are going to be and then we split up. You take the cloak and get ready to grab Hermione when she gets out there, but before she gets hurt. The past me will be able to still get Ron. I'll distract them—I'll use my Patronus and that should confuse them, hopefully long enough for you to clear Hermione out of there. Then, before the Patronus dissipates, I'm going to make a break for the woods—that's why I'm going to be closer to the forest, so I have a chance to get back in and hide."

"I don't like that part, Harry. I don't like that you're going out there without the cloak." 

Harry sighed. "Look at the burned part, Ginny. The cloak's not going to help if anything comes your way either. It's just an illusion. It doesn't matter. I'll be fine." He hoped that was true. Ginny didn't seem very reassured, but she went on.

"Then I'll meet you there with Hermione, you get under the cloak with us and we'll dodge them in the woods. She should still be conscious, so we'll be able to get to the Whomping Willow pretty quickly." She shook her head. "But, Harry, I don't understand. What can we do at the Willow?"

"We can go in." She looked at him incredulously. "Don't ask, just trust me. Then in through there and we stay there until tomorrow morning." Harry took a deep breath and exhaled.  "Right. Are you ready?" He held out his hand, still almost hoping she wouldn't take it, that she wouldn't be willing to go this far. 

But Ginny clasped his hand. "Ready." Then it was settled. They were going to go. They were going to do this. 

"Prrow?" A form shot between their legs. Harry nearly fell, but he stumbled into Ginny, who steadied him. They came very close together, again, a little too close for Harry, who blushed. The chain, which had been relatively tight around their necks, loosened. 

"The hell was that?" he said. Ginny shook her head.

"I don't know." Her eyes were wide. Their proximity appeared to be embarrassing her, too. "Let's go, all right?"  

Harry watched the Time Turner tip over in Ginny's hand, once, twice, three, now fou—but something jerked the chain tight and the Time-Turner never finished the fourth spin. The world dissolved and came back into view. The tension on the chain proved too much and it snapped, sending the Time-Turner rolling into the grass beyond the forest. It glittered in the open field, metres away, shining in what little light the moon was giving. 

"It didn't finish the fourth spin! What happened?" Ginny looked as startled as Harry felt.

"We're not back far enough. We need to get another spin to set up!"

Harry felt something spin him around roughly. He looked up at a very tall, very angry figure.

"What the _hell_ d'you reckon you were doing?" Ron was livid, but spoke in an undertone. "Going to tell me about this later, were you? Just _leave_ me there and hope it all worked out? If I hadn't had to chase that damned cat, I'd never have known about this."

Ginny jumped in. "Ron, it wasn't like that. You were—" He turned on her. 

"And what the hell are _you_ doing here, anyway? It's too damn dangerous for you to be out here." Ron's arms were crossed. "What were you thinking, Harry, letting her come? Didn't think the Death Eaters had done enough damage for one night? Thought they might like to kill my other best friend and my sister, too?"

"NO, Ron. No. _I_ said I was going." Ginny dug in her heels and glared back. "_I _took the Time-Turner. And I'm here now. There's not time to argue it out now." The two siblings seemed on the point of a blow-up, when Harry stepped in.

"She's right," he said. "Argue later." It was a tone of voice he hardly ever used, but it was one that didn't stand to questions. The sound was frighteningly cold emanating from a fifteen-year old boy. "Just put the cloak on. We've _got_ to get that Time Turner back." Silently, though Ron still wore an expression of righteous anger, they slipped the cloak over themselves. They left the edge of the forest and crept quietly towards the Time Turner. A voice cried out, catching their attention. They froze, and Harry tried to see what was happening.  

He squinted at the field. The Death Eaters were already there. He just barely made out a lanky form across the field when a figure dashed past, coming within a hair's breadth of bumping into them. The figure kept running, long hair flying. They caught a few muttered sentences as she ran 

"—_get_ my hands on that REDheaded son of a . . .kill him myself . . . would have set an absolute RECORD for O.W.L.S. . . . please do this Harry, please . . ."

Hermione. 

"Ginny! We need that Time Turner NOW!" he hissed. "Do you see it?" 

"Harry . . ." Her voice was a horrified whisper. He looked to where the Time-Turner had landed. Pieces of glass sparkled in the moonlight where Hermione had stepped on it. And they heard Hermione yell out

"Come on, you bastards! Wouldn't you rather take a Mudblood?! Or don't _you_ think you can defeat someone _Muggle_-born?" 

Harry's heart stopped. He could hear his past self gasping as he ran. He must have been very close to where they were crouched. Ginny's grip on his robe tightened. 

"We're too late." Harry said. "This—this is," His voice broke. "There's not enough _time_ to do it, Ginny."

"No . . ." Ginny breathed.

"Not enough time?" Ron's voice was hushed. "What do you _mean_ not enough time?"

"There has to be something we can do. We're not going to just give up, are we?" Ginny sounded determined. Voldemort's words echoed across the field. 

"Where's the boy, girl?"

"No." said Harry between clenched teeth. "No, we're not." He searched his memory. What could possibly help them now? _Oh, Hermione,_ he thought. _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._  

"—better than death, little girl." 

Hermione's lofty, defiant tone carried over to them.

"—to **whom** you are referring." That superior attitude again—the stuck-up manner of the best student in the year. As though her constant studying could save her—like exams would really help her out in life-or-death situations. 

_(Honestly, Harry, don't you ever **READ**?)_

It hit him. He knew what he could do. Harry wished that Hermione could be there to help him now. All that blasted tutoring and it finally came down to this. 

She was obnoxiously right sometimes.  

"I've got it. I know what we can do. I don't know if it will work, but—" Voldemort's voice overran his words.

"Really. Tell me where Potter is."    

The field was silent. None of them could move. Harry's entire body seemed to shudder with the memory of what was coming. This time it was the sheer flippance of the command that sickened him. 

(_Kill the spare . . .)_

"_Crucio!_"    

Hermione's scream was as haunting as Harry remembered it to be. It took all of his effort not to run out there and try to pull her away. But he couldn't. He had to stay where he was, until—  

"Well, we can't just keep sitting here." Ron's voice was rough. Unnoticed by the newly occupied Death Eaters, his past form on the field disappeared. 

"We're not going to. When I say go, we're going to run up there. Whatever you do," and Harry grabbed Ron's shoulder "don't touch her. No matter _what_ you hear or see, don't touch her, or they'll know we're there. They can't notice us, or we're . . ." Harry didn't have to finish the thought. They understood, waiting, almost spellbound by what was unfolding in front of them. 

"Go!" whispered Hermione hoarsely to nowhere. "just go. The two of you—go." 

_(Lily, take Harry and go.) _

Harry's legs tensed. "Ready?"

_(I'll hold them off.)_

"GO! HARRY, _GO_, GET OUT OF HERE! NOW! **_Detonius_**!" 

"NOW!" Harry hissed. The three of them ran, hearts pounding, towards Hermione. The exploding earth rained down on them. They stopped near the shaking figure.

 "You won't get away with this," Hermione cried out, staggering. They were barely a body's length away. This time Harry could see everything she was struggling to keep back. He gritted his teeth.  

_(Stand aside, you silly girl.)_

"Harry will never let you . . ." She gasped and continued. Sobs of pain were stifled behind her words. Blood ran from the cut on her lip.  Behind him, Ginny was crying, too—Harry could hear her breath catching in her throat. Hermione kept talking "_I _won't let you . . ." And he realised he hadn't heard her say that before. She must have said it too quietly to carry over to him when he was pulling Ron.  Then abruptly, her head snapped up and she shouted angrily.

"You're all nothing but a bunch of pathetic idiots terrified that—that you're going to lose. **I'm** not scared, d'you hear **that**, Death Eaters? A _Mudblood_ who doesn't give a rat's **arse** about you!" Hermione was down on her knees again, breathing raggedly. __

Harry would have given anything in his possession not to live through this twice. She glared up at the Death Eaters.

 "I'm not scared of y—"

"_Avada_—"

She closed her eyes, resigned. Her head bowed. 

This was it. 

_Get ready, Harry. You have one shot._

"Oh God—"

Ron made a strangled noise and Harry felt him move, but Ginny grabbed her brother from behind and clapped her hand over his mouth. They heard "**_Kedavra_**!" start to ring out and Harry pointed his wand, 

"_Scopolamia_!" 

There was the rushing noise, the green light and as though she had been shot, Hermione toppled sideways from her knees and rolled over. She lay unbearably still. For a second, none of them even breathed. It didn't seem real. Everything was quieter than Harry remembered. 

Then they saw a pair of feet, an arm and then almost all of the past Harry running. He flickered like a projected image. He swept the cloak over Hermione and they both vanished, and then became partly visible again as the cloak flashed around them.

 The Death Eaters' voices grew louder and the angry chorus of curses began to echo from their ranks. Harry grabbed Ginny's arm. "Follow me—him." He pointed after his past self. "Go to that ruined wall!" The three of them sprinted for the wall. It was already shaking under the burden of the attacks. They saw fire explode from the crumbling chimney. Cobbles began to fall from the wall. It was collapsing. _No **time**_, Harry thought. They swung around the wall, where the last traces of magical flame were expiring.  

Harry reached into his pocket, as he had before. The packet was gone. He must have dropped it in the original escape. Blast. 

"Look for a blue packet on the ground. The powder's _got_ to be here somewhere." Assuming, he thought grimly, that it wasn't in the fireplace and burned to ashes. They scrabbled through the debris, searching in the dark.  The wall was steadily falling apart. Ginny was hit with a stone. Harry heard her cry out. They had to go _now_. 

"Got it." Ron said sharply. Harry felt him press the packet into his hand. Ginny shouted "Incendius!" The flames revived in the open air, the last of the chimney gone now. Harry threw in the entire packet, pulled his friends into the fire and shouted "Hogwarts! Great Hall!"

They vanished. 


	9. . . . Gives You Courage

*          *          *          *

Chapter 9: . . . Gives You Courage 

*          *          *          *

The infirmary was dark and still. As Harry pushed the door open, light spilled from the hall, casting strange shadows onto the only occupied bed. A familiar form lay there. There was no sign of Madame Pomfrey. Ginny took out her wand and murmured something at it. A halo of dim light appeared near the ceiling above Hermione's bed, giving them just enough light to see her and each other, but not enough to be noticed by anyone who might pass by the door. 

Harry closed the door behind him and looked around the empty infirmary. He didn't know where the nurse had gone off to. Wasn't that irresponsible of her to leave a critically wounded patient alone in the ward? He guessed it was lucky though, or else the three of them would have been chucked out for bothering Hermione. As if Hermione, whether their plan had worked or not, could really be bothered by them right now. A thought occurred to him, and he realised why Madame Pomfrey wasn't in the ward. 

You don't have to monitor a body. 

Bodies aren't going to get any better.

Harry shivered. The quiet of the infirmary wasn't peaceful now—it had the restlessness of a mausoleum. He hoped that he was just exceptionally good at the charm—good enough to fool the school nurse. Otherwise—

"How do we know if it worked?" Ron asked. His voice was subdued and he sat down, slumping in the chair nearest Hermione's bed.

"We wait," said Harry shortly. "There's nothing else to do." The chill of his previous thoughts hadn't left him yet. 

"Eight hours. No, less than that now . . .maybe six . . . " Ginny was looking out the window. "Do we just get to keep turning time every time someone dies? When we make a mistake, can we always go back and find a way to fix it?" She sounded as if she was speaking from very faraway. "And if we don't go back for everyone, who picks who we go back for? What if it was someone like Parvati who was killed? Would we go back for her?" 

"I don't know," Harry said. He wondered, too. Could someone have turned time and tried to save his parents? And if so, why didn't they? And what about Cedric? Why hadn't he thought of finding a Time-Turner to go and warn himself and the Hufflepuff Seeker to leave the cup where it was? Was he even more responsible for Cedric's death than he'd thought?  

_(It's still a Hogwarts victory . . . Let's just take it together.)_

"Well, we obviously can't use _that_ particular Time-Turner to do it anymore if we could." Ron's voice broke into Harry's thoughts. He sounded irritable. His hands were at his temples.  

"It just seems too easy. I almost wish . . .I mean, I don't, but I do. I don't want Hermione to die, but I don't know if I'd ever do that again. I know it was my idea, and I'm the one who got the Turner, but . . ." Ginny looked down at the floor. Her eyes had a tired, hollow look in them. Harry wished he could erase it for her. He didn't know how much his eyes echoed their expression.

"So from now on nobody get themselves killed." Ron's mouth quirked up, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. There was a pause and he burst out   

"It was—it was an execution." His face was unreadable. "She _knew_ it was." Angry incomprehension seemed to shake him. "How could you know that you were going to die, I mean absolutely know what was going to happen to you, what they would _do_ to you, and still keep going like that?"     

Harry didn't know what to say. He didn't have any answers that he could put into words—he himself never understood exactly what made **him** get up again and again when he didn't want to do anything but quit. And how could Ron, who had stood up, shattered leg and all, to protect Harry in the Shrieking Shack; Ron, who had pushed Harry out of the way, not once, but _twice_ in the last month and nearly killed himself, ask that question? He should know as well as any of them.

But Harry also didn't want to say the other part of what he thought. 

"You are the _thickest_ human being alive." Harry had never heard Ginny Weasley use such a gentle voice with her brother. The boys looked at her, surprised. Tears shone in her eyes and there was something unsettling about the expression on her face. "Ron, she knew what would have happened if she _didn't_." Harry looked at the ground. For the second time that night, he didn't want to see the expression on his best friend's face. But Ginny didn't stop to let this sink in. She continued

"Do you really want to know why she got that detention?" 

The momentary unease broke, and Ron snorted. "She went to meet some bloke at night and Pomfrey caught her, we already know that. What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"Good. As usual you've managed to miss all of the important points."

"_Damn_ it, Ginny, what are you talking about?" 

"I _cannot_ believe I'm spelling this out for you—when did she have detention?"

"Just a couple days ago."

"When did she _get_ the detention?"

"Before that, I reckon. Look, how d'you expect _me_ to know when the blasted nurse gave her the detention? Like Hermione told either Harry or me the truth about it. And anyway, that was while I was out cold in the infirm—" Ron froze. 

The silence that surrounded them now was no longer simply restless. It was alive, malevolent, and the light above the bed flickered for a moment as Ginny dropped her head and her spell wavered. 

Harry closed his eyes, swallowing hard. He spoke, changing the subject, trying to get rid of this new presence.

"Did you hear her out there? Swearing at those Death-Eaters. I barely knew she could _use_ that language. And that Detonius Charm? Brilliant." Ginny looked up gratefully. 

Ron nearly smiled, a real smile. "Told them where they could stick it, didn't she? Stark raving mad, that girl. They were furious."

"Yeah. She was really something there." 

They lapsed back into silence; but the quiet now was somehow better than the one that had come before it.

*          *          *          *

Ginny's head rested on the arm of Harry's chair. She was asleep, red hair falling across her face. He reached over and gently shook her shoulder. She jumped.

"Wha—what? What's happening? Is she awake?" Harry shook his head.

"Still have a bit before we know." His voice took on a less grim tone. "You should go up to bed. We'll come get you if—_when _she wakes up."

"I'm staying then. I'm waiting too."

"Ginny. Go to bed."

"I," she said indignantly, "am old enough to stay and wait with one of the best girl friends I've ever had. I was old enough to do this, and I'm old enough to see if it worked. And neither you nor my brother can make me go." Ginny looked as though she would have stamped her foot had she not been so tired.

"It's nothing to do with _you_, Ginny."

She glared at him. "_Nothing_ to do with me?" Wow. That was a look he'd only gotten from _one_ Weasley before. He hoped he'd never do anything to get it again.

"That's not—that's not what I meant and you know it." Harry caught a glimpse of Ron, still staring at the girl on the bed, unaware of anything else. There were ashes on Hermione's forehead from landing in Hagrid's fireplace, and Ron reached over as if to brush them away, but his own hands were still stained from the hearth, and he only succeeded in tracing more across her face. 

_(You've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?)_

Ginny followed Harry's gaze.

"All right," she relented. "I'll go. But make sure you get me."

"I promise." Ginny rose and tapped Ron on the shoulder. He looked up. 

"I'm going back to Gryffindor. Go with me. I'm not walking there alone." Slowly, he stood, nodded and the two of them left the infirmary.   

Harry watched them go. He walked over to Hermione, still and ghostly pale on the bed.  He sat down next to her. The room was quiet for a few minutes as he watched his friend's body for any sign of life.__

"Hey there," he said softly. "Can't believe you did that. That took—well, Ron would say that took real stones. But I can see your face if someone ever told you that, and I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that look." He shifted. "I suppose I just wanted to say that you better wake up. I don't know what I'd do without you, and I think it'd kill Ron. And that would defeat your whole valiant rescue thing anyway. So you don't really have any choice here." He reached over and squeezed her hand. "I thought you should know, Hermione, I did talk to Cho Chang. For a few minutes. It felt good. You were right." He smiled. "You were right about that spell, too. I'll never complain about extra Charms work again. Er, not in the near future anyway." Harry looked down at her hand. His smile faded. 

A hand clapped on his shoulder. Harry looked up. Ron gave him a tight smile. They didn't move for a few seconds. 

There was suddenly a low moan in the room.

"_Told_ you to talk to her, Harry." 

Harry's eyes widened. Something grasped his hand. 

And Hermione sat bolt upright in bed. Her eyes opened. She shuddered involuntarily. "Hurt so much," she gasped, shaking. She pulled her hand out of Harry's and ran both of her hands up and down her arms. 

She took a deep breath, seemed to gain control of herself and looked at Harry and Ron standing around her bed. 

"Harry. You did it. I _knew_ you would." Hermione smiled. "That was close. But I knew you'd manage it." 

She punched him playfully on the arm. Harry leaned in and hugged her. She was real, alive, and she hugged him back.

"Good to see you're awake, Hermione. We were getting worried." She smiled again.

"I never thought I'd be _excited_ to see the inside of the infirmary." There was a pause while she looked at her friends. "There was a bit where I really thought that was it—that I was a goner. I don't even know _how_ I got lucky enough to miss that last—" Hermione suddenly clenched the sheet between her fingers. "Well, it doesn't matter much, does it? Everything came out all right in the end." Ron's grip on the end of the bed was white-knuckled. Harry's stomach twisted, but he said

"Must be one of those weird 'Hermione's been knocked on her skull too many times' feelings." She laughed, but gave him a slightly suspicious look. 

"Anyway," said Ron airily. "You're awake. And I need help with that Potions homework for Wednesday. So when you're feeling up to it—which, by the way, would be tonight, whether you are or not—you can give me a hand with that stuff. Otherwise, well, you'll just be sending me to Snape completely unprepared, and I don't think you could live with that on your conscience, recovering wreck of a girl or not." She shot him a glare that would have left most people quivering. He smirked at her, but his tight hold on the rail didn't change. 

"Whose fault would it be, might I ask, if a certain someone failed Potions? Because I think that blaming it on me would hardly be fair, considering how very, very little that someone puts his mind to anything."    

     "Well, you think about it, then. But you just remember what will happen if Snape gets hold of me. You do what you feel is right."

"Out!" Hermione shouted. "OUT! Now! Arrogant, _completely_ idiotic . . . Here I am sick, just woken up and you ask me to finish your homework. As if I didn't have enough to do myself!" Ron grinned.

"Let's go to breakfast then, Harry. We'll get her after she's had a bit more Madam Pomfrey than she really wanted." He looked at Hermione. "You'll be begging for the company, you know it. Just remember your _detention_." She threw a pillow at him as he turned and left. Harry followed him, the knots in his stomach untying themselves, and as long as he didn't think about what had happened, or rather what had not happened, it seemed like everything was the way it was before. 

*          *          *          *

As they walked towards the Great Hall, Ron turned to Harry.

"Whether or not _you_ believe it, you really _are_ the hero, do you know that, Harry?" Ron shook his head. "You saved her life. That was something else."

"Did I?" Harry said slowly. "It doesn't seem that way to me. _You_ saved _me_. Hermione saved you _and_ me. And then you, me and Ginny together saved Hermione. I think that makes us pretty even. Except for your sister, who didn't need to get saved by anyone, and so I think she's ahead here." He grinned weakly, and then paused for a second before looking back up at Ron. "I think," and his voice was very quiet, "I think we _all_ ended up heroes this time."

"Maybe." Ron stopped for a beat and smiled, then narrowed his eyes at his best friend. "So I reckon you _were_ the one who beat up Pig." Harry winced. He had forgotten all about the incident with little owl. "Suppose it was a good thing, too. He doesn't seem to be any the worse for it. Still the old pain the ass he always was. And if you hadn't practised that spell, then—" Ron stopped suddenly. He said faintly

"I can't believe how stupid I am." 

Harry raised an eyebrow. Hastily, Ron explained. "That just reminded me. I completely forgot my Charms notebook back in the dormitory. We've got it right after; remember? The midterm? Flitwick's probably not going to let us miss. Look, I'm going to go back for it."

"I'll wait for you." 

"No, no, don't worry about it. It'll probably take a bit to find the ruddy thing. Go down with Seamus and Dean. Hey, and go find Ginny—we forgot to do that and she'll _kill_ us if we don't. Great Heroine or not, she'll be happy to take our lives herself. Anyway, I'll be down in a minute or so." 

Harry shrugged. "Suit yourself. See you down there." But Ron was already hurrying back up the steps. Harry continued down when something caught his eye. Ron's wand. It must have fallen out of his robes. Harry picked it up, hesitated, and went back towards Gryffindor. He muttered the password ("Niffler mines!") at the Fat Lady, went in the portrait and up to the boys' side. He opened the door, but no one was inside. Ron's things were, as usual, strewn about the room. A stack of notebooks was the only pile sitting neatly at the end of Ron's bed. It didn't appear to have been touched in weeks. Harry left and went down through the portrait. As the door swung shut, he asked the Fat Lady

"Did Ron Weasley come through here recently?"

"That tall red-headed boy? Not since early this morning. He ran past a few minutes ago, but he hasn't gone up." The Fat Lady looked at him curiously.

"Well, it's just—he dropped his wand, and I thought he'd come back up this way. Doesn't matter, really." Harry tried to sound nonchalant. He supposed he'd just hang on to it until Ron got down to breakfast. Something occurred to him suddenly, and he changed his mind. 

Harry walked down through the halls of Hogwarts. Everything was quiet. Most people were down at the Hall for the meal. A couple first-year Ravenclaws passed him. Huh. He shrugged and turned to go back down to the Great Hall. Then he heard muffled voices from the infirmary. One seemed to be comforting the other. 

"Shhh, it's all right, isn't it? What's gotten into you, then? You're all right, really. You don't have to do this—I was going to help you with Potions anyway. Do you have another concussion?  That was a nasty gash." Harry glanced around for Madam Pomfrey in the hall, but she didn't seem to be nearby. He opened the door and had already taken a few steps into the infirmary before he looked around. 

Hermione was sitting up. She was hugging Ron, patting him gently on the back. She looked a little puzzled, but concerned. He, on the other hand, had his arms wrapped around her tightly and was sobbing great wrenching sobs into her shoulder, where he had buried his face. Harry realised he'd never seen Ron cry before. Not even when Ginny was kidnapped. And he hadn't cried at all last night. Not even when they thought . . .

Hermione met Harry's eyes. "He's gone mad," she mouthed. Harry smiled and shook his head. She shrugged and smiled too, mouthing "Go. Before Pomfrey catches you and we're all in trouble." He motioned to Ron. She rolled her eyes. "They let the ones with brain damage stay." Harry almost laughed out loud, but stopped when Hermione looked pointedly at Ron and back at Harry and sternly put her finger to her lips. They both grinned and Harry started to back out of the room slowly, hoping not to be seen. Ron took that moment to look up. He didn't seem to notice Harry behind him. Hermione's face, pale and still bruised around the mouth, softened.    

_(I mean, is he **blind**? Can't he **see** that—?)___

"You're alive," Ron said. 

"I know," she said simply. "So are you." Her hand went to the cut on his temple. They stayed like that for a moment, not moving. Then Ron slammed his fist down on the bed. Harry started.

"**_What_** the bloody hell did you _think_ you were doing? Could have been _killed_—nearly **_were_** killed—scared Harry and me out of our _minds_! Are you completely daft?" 

Harry edged backwards more quickly, trying to be inconspicuous. This was neither his fight nor was this really a moment for him to be intruding on.

"I was just, you know, applying something somebody taught me." Hermione giggled, and she looked very much like a little girl who had just played a marvellous joke. Ron didn't appear to think it was funny. 

"What? Somebody _taught_ you—were you reading old notes from _Lockhart's_ class or something?"

"Queen takes rook over knight? That sound like Lockhart to you, Ron?"

By this time, Harry had closed the door to the infirmary as quietly as he could, so he barely heard Hermione's answer. He didn't see that she'd finally burst into tears and that now _Ron_ was the one holding _her_, nor did Harry hear Ron mutter half to himself, a little admiringly

"You really are an utter know-it-all. _Always_ trying to get the last word in."

*          *          *          *

As he went back down towards breakfast, Harry passed the great glass windows on the stairs, and he noticed how very blue the sky was. The rainy weather that had seemed to swallow October whole was gone. It would be a perfect day to play a little Quidditch. He would ask Ron to come out and scrimmage a little. 

That is, after Ron found his notebook.

*          *          *          *

**"After winter comes the summer.**

**After night comes the dawn.**

**And after every storm, there comes clear, open skies."**

**_~Samuel Rutherford_**


	10. Epilogue: All Soul's Day

*          *          *          *

**Epilogue: All Souls' Day . . .**

*          *          *          *****

****

The sun was making the glass in the infirmary windows sparkle with crystal ferns where they had frosted in the cold. Harry sat in a chair by Hermione's bed, slightly damp from his post-Quidditch shower, regaling her with a tale of the mishaps that had gone on during the scrimmage. Ron hadn't finished washing up yet, and so it was a perfect opportunity to tell Hermione about Ron's little "incident." 

"—so, he thinks he's killed the poor thing. And he's almost as upset as he was over Pigwidgeon, and he's running around hysterically, with it cradled in his hands, yammering on about how he _can't_ take it into the infirmary because it's not a _person_, and he can't take it up with him, because his owl will try to _eat_ it. But what he doesn't realise is—"

Hermione barely managed to speak between giggles "Golden Snidgets play dead?"

"Got it in one. So as he's launched into about his third speech about how awful it is that he's killed this poor little innocent bird, the thing wakes up, tries to take off and whacks him right in the nose. Hard. It wheels around without missing a beat and just flies away. And Ron, who not _five seconds_ before had been bemoaning the loss of this 'beautiful creature,' starts cursing such a blue streak after it that even Gred and Forge are completely amazed at the sheer profane creativity their little brother is displaying."

They both laughed for a couple of minutes, and Hermione said "How's his nose?"

"Not a scratch. Can't even tell he got hit. But I have to say, that was quite a moment."

"I can imagine." And she dissolved back into laughter. As she regained some control of herself, she looked at Harry. Her face became surprisingly serious. "Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"I, um, I want to tell you something."

"Yeah? About Ro—?" 

"NO!" She blushed, and looked down at her hands for a second, but then she seemed to refocus. "Seriously. You know last night?" 

Any trace of a smile left Harry's face. As if he could possibly forget.  She went on "I wanted to tell you something about—about what happened." She stared off into space. "When I, um, when I went out there—it wasn't like I didn't want to live—I did—but I knew it was a trade. And I was okay with it, Harry, really I was. I knew what I was trading _for_ and nothing else really seemed to matter right then." She hesitated. "I thought—I thought you'd want to know that." 

She met his eyes then, and they looked at each other for a moment. Harry was glad that she didn't seem to want him to respond, because he really didn't think he could have at that moment.

Ron, his hair wet and sticking up, came in with some smuggled butterbeer. "Left-over from the Feast. Thought we could do with some more festivity up here." He sat down on the end of Hermione's bed. He offered a bottle to Harry, but Harry shook his head. Ron held one out to Hermione, but before she could take it, he pulled it back and opened it for her.

"Ron! I can do that _myself_."

"Oh right, of course, Miss 'I'm sick—just woken up.' " Ron said sceptically. Hermione smacked him and he yelped. "Oh, I see how it is. I think you're just having one over on Pomfrey now. Nobody with a right hook like that could possibly be ill. Anyway, I've got something else for you, too." He pulled a box out of his knapsack and handed it to her. She examined it, puzzled.

"Ron," Hermione said. "I don't _eat_ sugar quills."

"I know." He grinned. "But I thought you'd like them anyway."

"Why would you think that?" 

Ron looked at her innocently. "I just—I, you know, figured they'd match your other box—the one in your book bag. Now you have a set." He shook his head. "Ah well, if you _really_ don't eat them, don't worry about it, then. I'll just take care of both of them for you. Wouldn't want those little buggers lying about for just _anyone_ to eat."

As he was speaking, Hermione had turned bright red.  "How did—those were from—I never—_ohhh_." And she buried her face in her hands.

Ron reached over and ruffled her hair fondly.

"You're not the only one with a good memory, you know." 

Harry stood up from his chair. From what he could tell, it was definitely time for him to go. He waved good-bye to his friends.

"I'm going down to the common room," he said, "I'll see you two later." Ron nodded, not really seeming to be listening, and Harry walked towards the door. He turned back for a moment and said "Thanks, Hermione."

"Sure." She looked up and smiled at him, and he left the infirmary. He was a bit relieved about it. 

He decided that Madam Pomfrey had a point—best to stay out of that place as much as possible, and he walked back towards Gryffindor a little more quickly. He went in through the portrait hole, wandered over to an overstuffed chair and sat down. It was the first time that he'd really had a bit to himself all day. Harry looked out the bay window in front of him. Stunning blue sky or not, the Quidditch scrimmage that afternoon had reminded him that it was still abnormally cold for November. The frost had remained on the grounds, broken by dark footprints of the students who had crossed it. He wondered if any of the ones he was looking at were from the night before—whether they were his or Ron's or Ginny's. He was glad that no one had come over to talk to him; he just wanted to sit there and be alone.  Someone tapped his shoulder. He sighed, exasperated—apparently, he had spoken too soon.

He was about to snap at the intruder when he saw who it was. Ginny Weasley sat down in the chair next to his. He closed his mouth.

"Hi, Harry," she said. He nodded, acknowledging the greeting, but still not really feeling like talking. She took a deep breath. "I rang my dad this morning. On the fire." Harry raised an eyebrow. 

"What for?" he asked.

"I wanted to check something with him," Ginny said slowly. "I called him about the Floo Network. The cottage—the ruined wall, you know, with the old fireplace. The one we used."

"Yeah?" Harry looked at her, puzzled.

"It's not on the Network. Not even on the Hogwarts internal one. It hasn't been since—since Voldemort was in power."

"That can't be right, Ginny. We _used_ it."

"No, it's right. It is. They marked when it was removed—1981. They did all of that stuff to keep track of where Death-Eaters could and couldn't pop up."

"But if it was off the Network, then _how_ did we get through?"

"I don't know—but it _wasn't_ on the Floo Network. We really did get lucky." Ginny shivered a bit. "That was even closer than we thought. I don't know . . ." She trailed off, and then shook herself, breaking the moment. She smiled. "Maybe that's another part of Harry's Law."

"Ron _told_ you about that?" Harry was suddenly very unimpressed with his best friend.

But Ginny wasn't paying attention anymore. She replied absently "Ron tells _everybody_ about that. He's got a big mouth . . . I'll um, I'll see you later, all right Harry? I just, I want to think about some stuff." She got up. As she made her way towards the portrait hole, she looked back over her shoulder, calling "And don't think that I've forgotten that neither you _nor_ Ron came to get me when Hermione woke up. You _promised_."

Harry grimaced. He had just ended up on the wrong side of a formidable Weasley. Might as well pack his bags for the infirmary now. At least Hermione would have company. He snickered to himself. Not that she was lacking in _that_ currently. He sighed and looked out the window again, staring again at the footprints marring the frost. His weary mind drifted, still wandering over the past few days as it wound itself down and he fell asleep for the first time in over 24 hours.

*          *          *          *

_He was in the small room again, looking down at that stupid, crumbly old paper. _

_The eyes had reappeared on its surface, still closed._

_ As if from very far away, he heard Hermione's words, but it wasn't her voice._

_(**I** won't let you . . .)_

_The eyes opened. Bright green and all too familiar, they looked back at him, smiling. He could see the hand touching her forehead more clearly now. It was a child's hand._

_(Mumma?)_

_(Nothing else really mattered right then.) _

_(I thought that you'd want to know that.)_

_The image faded away. Harry reached out to the blank parchment, trying to bring it back, but it crumbled away under his fingertips, leaving nothing but dust, and it blew away as a gust of wind swept through the window. _

_Something touched his arm, and he looked away from the desk reluctantly. The girl in the cloak was still there and she took his hand. Echoing his other dreams, she led him to the window, where the wind was still coming in. _

_The field was still trapped in twilight, but he couldn't see anything like before. The glow from the tree line had disappeared. He turned back to the girl, puzzled, and for the first time she spoke_

_"Look again."_

_He did, and this time his vision focussed in on the clearing. It was dim, but he could still make out the shapes of the trees and shrubs around him. Something was different this time, though, besides the absent glow. The yew was gone. He turned his head, looking around, wondering if he was just looking from a different angle. But the yew had disappeared. There was no sign of—suddenly he did a double take. The alder that Ron had been sitting on was no longer toppled and wrecked. It was standing, straight and healthy, as if it had never fallen._

_Before he could look again, the clearing receded and he was back in the window, still feeling the wind against his face and in his hair._

_The girl spoke again, and there was a smile in her voice. "Harry's Law, eh?" Some of her bright hair escaped from her hood as she leaned against him, and they looked out over the field, watching the stars come out._

*          *          *          *

**_"The possession of knowledge does not kill_********_the sense of wonder and mystery._****_   
_****_There is always more mystery."_****_  
_****_~Anais Nin_****__**

*          *          *

**Appendix: Sources of the Chapter Titles:**

*          *          *          *

1.  "_A man's friendships are one of the best measures of his worth."_

~_Charles Darwin_

2._ "Friendships are fragile things, and require as much handling as any other fragile and precious thing."   
           ~Randolph S. Bourne_

3. _Quote taken from "The Only Thing We Have To Fear"_

4._ "When people talk, listen completely. Most people never listen."_

_~Ernest Hemingway_

5._ "Sympathy constitutes friendship; but in love there is a sort of antipathy, or opposing passion. _

_  Each strives to be the other, and both together make up one whole."_

_~Samuel Taylor Coleridge_

6._ "It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves."__   
           __~William Shakespeare_

7._ "Greater love has no man than this; that he lay down his life for his friends."_

_~The Christian Gospels; John 15: 12-13_

8. "We call that person who has lost his father, an orphan; and a widower that man who has lost his wife. 

But that man who has known the immense unhappiness of losing a friend, by what name do we call him? 

Here every language is silent and holds its peace in impotence."

_~Joseph Roux_

9._  "A tiny change today brings us to a dramatically different tomorrow." _

_~Richard Bach_

10. "Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength; loving someone deeply gives you courage."

_~Lao-Tzu_

Epilogue:  _On the Catholic Calendar of Saints, November 2nd is All Soul's Day._

*          *          *          *

A/N: Well, that's it. Thanks for reading this far. Glad you made it. J

Just so you know—if you think I'm terrible for putting the characters through this, I went right there with them. I've never really made myself cry before when I'm writing, but "Remind me to tell her I don't mind" broke my heart. _Damn_ you, Ron, for being so sweet and oblivious and really, really sorry.

Also, how documentation-driven and pathetic am I? I just wrote a FANFICTION with an APPENDIX. See what academia does to simple, everyday people?


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